The Awkward Moment When
by Chamelaucium
Summary: New Chapters for Return of the King are up! A collection of awkward and embarrassing moments between not just members of the Fellowship, but many other characters too. Set both during the events leading up to the War of the Ring and in the days of peace that followed, the poor inhabitants of Middle-earth just can't have a quiet life.
1. Mistrust

_**The Awkward Moment When...**_

**1: The man you mistrusted is actually the King…**

All the way from Bree, Sam wondered about the mysterious man they were now following to lead them to Rivendell. If Mr Frodo trusted him, Sam would too – at least, he would appear to; but Sam still had misgivings about this so-called Ranger.

So, he had a sword and he had quoted part of a poem from Gandalf. But who _was_ he? He hadn't really explained and Sam didn't like that. When he did something he liked to know _exactly_ what it was he was doing and _why_; just because this man had told them to trust him didn't necessarily mean they should.

But Mr Frodo was willing to accept this man's authority, so Sam kept quiet and did as he was told. He tried to talk as little as possible to the man, but watched him closely throughout their journey to check for any sign, even the tiniest, of treachery or traps. Admittedly so far his observations had been fruitless, and Strider appeared to be innocent, but Sam would keep his eye on him anyway. Never did anybody any harm to take precautions.

When Frodo was stabbed on Weathertop, Sam was certain Strider was behind it all, but when he came running to defend them from the terrifying black shadows chasing them and who wounded his master, Sam had to put paid to that idea.

Strider did seem incredibly desperate to get Frodo to Rivendell fast after that, and Sam approved mightily; but still he was not willing to put complete faith in Strider just yet. Sam agreed that they must make all haste to Rivendell - anything to save Frodo; but there was a little niggling doubt that remained in Sam's brain.

That nugget of doubt grew when Strider met an elf on the road and conversed with him easily in a tongue Sam could not understand. How could he do that? He was a man, not an elf. Where in all of Middle-Earth had he learned to speak Elvish?

Suddenly Strider had walked over to Bill the pony, where Frodo lay, groaning in pain and discomfort, and was lifting him carefully off and passing him to this stranger, who seated him on his great white horse. What was he doing? Who _was_ this elf and _why was he taking Frodo away?_

Sam called out, desperate to stop this treachery.

'Hoi, Strider! What are you doing? Who is _he_ and why has he got Mr Frodo?'

'Hush, Sam, it is for the best. Glorfindel knows what he is doing. Frodo must reach Rivendell before it is too late.'

'But how will he get there any quicker-'

'Samwise, elven horses ride much faster than Bill could, and we are being pursued. Frodo must get away.'

Sam could feel himself becoming frustrated. He could see the reasoning behind Strider's words but the fact he was being taken away from Sam – he couldn't forgive Strider for that, even if it did make sense.

The elf tapped his horse's flank and muttered something in Elvish. The horse abruptly began to run, swifter than anything Sam had seen before. Tears were stinging his eyes but he forced himself to make look straight into the Ranger's eyes.

'Will he be safe?' he asked.

'I hope so,' came the reply.

* * *

Sam waited by Frodo's side for him to wake up, in a chamber at Rivendell. Sam had grudgingly accepted the fact that Strider had been right, but his main concern was Mr Frodo. Sam waited and watched, until finally one morning when Sam entered his room, Frodo was awake and Gandalf was talking to him.

Overjoyed, Sam rushed into the room and joyously greeted his master. Frodo looked wan and pale, but Sam had no doubt that here in the beautiful grounds of Rivendell his master would recover. Eventually Frodo was well again, although the healers said the wound he had received at Weathertop would never fully heal. When Frodo was summoned to a secret council, Sam knew it would be about the Ring, and would therefore concern his master closely. Silently, he secreted himself in a corner behind a tall statue of an elven maiden.

His muscles became stiff as he sat there, crouched and hunched, and before long they started to protest at this continued torture. Ignoring the pain, Sam's ears pricked up when he heard Strider mentioned – although his name was really Aragorn. Sam listened in disbelief as it was revealed that Aragorn was the heir of Isildur, the High King of Gondor who had cut the Ring from Sauron's very hand.

It couldn't be. _Strider_? That meant he was technically the king, of some far-off city Sam knew nothing about, but the fact remained that the man Sam had resolutely not trusted throughout their journey, in his humble attire and unshaven appearance, was _royalty_.

Sam could not believe it. He would have to apologise to Aragorn, and _that_ was going to be a sticky situation, and no mistake.

* * *

_**A/N: I am trying to base this story mainly on the book, but there may be moments which I have used the film for.**_

_**I hope you liked this first chapter! I would really appreciate reviews, as I plan on writing quite a few chapters but if no-one likes it I may scrap that idea.**_

_**So, I hope you enjoy and please Review! Thank you for reading :)**_


	2. Appearances

**2: The tough soldier isn't, in fact, so tough**

The hobbits were gathered in Bilbo's rooms in Rivendell, listening to the older hobbit talk about his adventures since leaving the Shire after his birthday party. Bilbo was recounting his wanderings in the forest and his life with the elves here in Rivendell.

They had been feasting on the delicious cakes and treats the Rivendell kitchens had prepared for them, knowing that the hobbits were particularly fond of food, and the elf who had brought them the trays piled high with pastries and delicacies and pots of steaming tea unlike to anything they had tasted before had bowed before leaving and said, 'if you would like more, there are many more ready in the kitchens. Just call and someone will bring you some.'

And so they had steadily devoured the plate brought to them, munching on them while they listened to Bilbo. Pippin reached out to pick up another cake but his fingers encountered only empty air

'Oh,' he said in surprise, looking down at the cleared plate.

The other hobbits looked at him.

'All the cakes are gone,' Pippin stated.

'Yes, Pippin. We can see that,' said Bilbo.

Pippin ran to the door to talk to the elf who waited outside their door, but there was no one there.

'There's no one here. But I'll go,' he offered. The intention was not really to be kind; it was more an opportunity to add to his own share of cakes without anyone noticing.

He set off down the corridor and made his way to the kitchens. He wasn't exactly certain of the way but he enjoyed observing the beauty of his surroundings, so it wasn't too much of a hardship. When he was still nowhere near the kitchens after fifteen minutes, he asked a young elf who was passing, and she nodded and showed him the way.

Thanking her, he stepped inside and looked around the large room, searching for the collection of treats. Suddenly he heard a strange sound.

It was a murmur, but what it was saying, Pippin couldn't make out.

He walked further into the room and stared around, trying to locate the source of the noise. Then he saw it – a boot sticking out of a cupboard. Quietly he approached, silent on his soft hobbit feet, and looked upon the strangest sight: Boromir, kneeling on the floor in front of a basket filled with little moving creatures emitting little mews.

_Boromir_ was _cooing_ over some _cats_.

Pippin was shocked. Boromir was a soldier, heart hardened by war and battle. Pippin would never have thought he would see Boromir behaving in such a way; actually talking to these kittens and stroking them, scratching their chins and cheeks as they head-butted him.

Pippin watched the scene before him, as the burly Gondorian man petted and tickled the little kittens in front of him, while a larger cat he supposed was the mother, a beautiful tortoiseshell with long and lustrous fur, sat and watched them, her tail flicking absently.

Boromir must have felt his presence though, as he turned around and saw Pippin standing in the doorway, staring at him. There was no lamp in the cupboard but Pippin could have sworn the man blushed…

Boromir was trying to explain but failing miserably: the only noises coming from his mouth were garbled words and stutters that Pippin couldn't really make out.

Sensing the man's discomfort and considerable embarrassment, knowing his image was now ruined, Pippin smiled and conspiratorially tapped his nose.

'Don't worry, Boromir. You're secret's safe with me. I won't tell a soul,' he whispered. 'I came to look for some cakes; you wouldn't happen to have seen any would you?'

Boromir pointed to a large door on one side of the kitchen, which Pippin assumed to be pantry. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked in and saw shelves of food; nearest to the door there was a big tray with 'Hobbits' written on a tag attached to it in both Elvish and the Common Tongue, so not even Pippin could miss it.

He picked it up and just as he was leaving, Boromir managed to utter a coherent sentence.

'It reminds me of my mother,' he called. Pippin turned to look at him.

'She died when my brother was born. I was small, but old enough to remember her and to feel her loss keenly. She used to have a cat, very much like this one, and I used to spend hours with my mother in her rooms, playing with the cat. Her name was Ivorwen.'

Pippin stared at the soldier. He knew next to nothing about Boromir, but here he was confiding in him. Well, he didn't _really_ have a choice, as Pippin _had_ walked in on him acting in a very unsoldierly manner.

'Don't worry, Boromir. I won't tell.'

Boromir nodded, and Pippin left.

He walked as quickly back to Bilbo's rooms as he could, being careful not to drop the tray, and he burst in with a clatter.

'Pippin! Where have you been? How long does it take to go to the kitchen and back? It's nearly time for tea already…' Pippin was assaulted by complaints and beratings as soon as he entered.

But he interrupted them all.

'Can you all keep a secret? You mustn't tell, but guess what I just saw…'

When he arrived at dinner that evening and walked past the hobbits' table, he heard soft mewing noises and all the halflings were deliberately avoiding his eye. Aragorn approached him and very innocently asked him what his favourite animal was, and offered to formally introduce him to the bestial inhabitants of Rivendell.

Boromir learnt a lesson that day: hobbits cannot be trusted with a secret.


	3. Eating Habits

**3: The hobbits out-eat everyone. Including the dwarf.**

The nine members of the Fellowship were gathered around one of the large tables in Rivendell's spacious dining hall. High-vaulted ceilings and windows as tall as the elves themselves served to give the room a light and relaxed atmosphere and allowed the afternoon sunshine to permeate into every corner of the room.

The reason for this gathering was simple: Elrond had instructed them to spend their time in Rivendell getting to know one another.

'It will make your journey a lot easier,' he had said gravely, 'if you are not travelling with a pack of strangers.'

And there was much to learn about each other. As they sat there, Boromir described to his companions his city of Gondor and the surrounding lands, and it was clear to see in his eyes that he missed his home dearly and was eager to return; Legolas taught them how the ways and culture of the Elves of Mirkwood differed from those of the Rivendell elves; Gimli gave a very detailed and lively account of his home and the lifestyle of the Dwarves – this was accompanied with much thumping of the table with his fist and stamping of his boots – while Aragorn told them briefly of the Rangers and their ways. Gandalf did not speak much but they allowed him his mysteriousness; he was, after all, a wizard, and not all of the assembled company were on quite such intimate terms with him.

That day, the Fellowship learned the most about the hobbits.

Aside from Gandalf, who knew very well the ways of hobbits, the others all assumed that they were a fairly simple folk who cared for more for crops than culture.

This idea was quickly put paid to as the four hobbits began to explain their way of life – including detailed descriptions of the order of society, the important role that heritage and genealogy play in their lifestyle, among many other things – and the other members of the company were shocked into silence as the complex and confusing society of hobbits was revealed to them.

As it was lunchtime, they were eating as they talked, feasting on the delicious fare presented to them on shining, ornate platters decorated with inscriptions in the Quenya tongue, the script sloping and pleasing to the eye – even if only three of the assembled nine were able to read it.

Legolas, being an elf, did not eat much and only selected a few choice items from the platters and ate them delicately, graceful in his movements. The others all tucked in with gusto.

Something they were not expecting, however, was to discover that the hobbits, despite being only half their size, could consume more than any of them – including Gimli.

Legolas had finished first and Boromir and Aragorn not long after. Gandalf, being fond of his food, was next to finish. Soon it was just Gimli and the hobbits who were still eating. Dwarves are famed for their eating habits, but even Gimli was soon full. The fare was not as rich as he was used to but it was tasty and filled his stomach. He leaned back and patted his stomach with a grunt of satisfaction.

Merry was talking at that point, describing the time he had pilfered some apples from the kitchen of his home and blamed Pippin, and had been believed due to the Took clan's larger than usual appetites; and yet he was still managing to shovel food into his mouth at an alarming rate, rather disproving the point he was trying to make about Tooks eating more than Brandybucks. However it must be noted that young Pippin was eating so fast he was barely stopping for breath.

The other members of the Fellowship were astounded. How in all of Middle-Earth did their stomachs hold all that food? Especially as Aragorn knew that they had partaken of 'Elevenses' not two hours previously, and everyone had seen them have breakfast. Twice.

They watched the hobbits in amazement as they continued to eat and chatter on about this and that and life at home. Frodo was the first to finish of them, and he gave a loud sigh of appreciation. Merry finished not long after him, but Sam and Pippin were still steadily chewing and munching their way through another whole platter of pastries before they too finally stopped.

Silence fell on the company.

'So, er, hobbits like to eat, then, I take it?' asked Gimli tentatively. He knew how much dwarves ate compared to other races but he had just witnessed these little halflings eat more than him. At least twice as much.

'Oh indeed,' Gandalf chuckled. He had attended enough hobbit parties to know that the little people were perfectly capable of eating all day, without stopping. The hobbits were all leaning back in their chairs, with happy smiles on their faces as they rubbed their stomachs in a satisfied manner. 'Food is probably the most important thing for a hobbit. Well, except for ale, of course. Wait 'til you see these lads in a drinking competition…'

* * *

_**A/N: What do you think? I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm not entirely happy with it, at least not as much as my other chapters, but I think it's still amusing. I like the **_**next**_** chapter though… :P**_

_**PLEASE let me know what you think! It's so important to me and I want to know whether you like it so far or not, so that I can improve!**_

_**Thank you so much for reading. :)  
**_


	4. Dating

**4: A hobbit gives you dating tips**

The Fellowship was standing by the gate of Rivendell, ready to leave the Last Homely House. They were waiting only for Gandalf, as he had not yet come out of the house.

Aragorn was standing behind the hobbits, listening to Elrond, but his eyes were occupied with a sight much fairer. Arwen was standing under an arch of pale stone with trailing plants growing and wrapping themselves around it. Lamps hanging from the arched roof threw her face into light, contrasting against her already black hair and making her appear even more ethereal, as something not of this world.

They had said their goodbyes in private. The official farewells of Elrond had been made in the Great Hall by the huge fireplace. They had not spoken much then; all that they could say had already been said. The firelight had played upon her hair, creating hues and tones of auburn in her thick dark hair. There was no fairer maiden than she.

Their eyes were locked, so much being said in their gazes that they could not say in words, even if they had time. He clasped tightly the necklace she had presented to him; a piece of her he would carry with him at all times. Once again he was leaving her, and once again she would wait for him to come home, hoping that he would indeed come home to her.

The sky was growing dark, making her face glow even more brightly against the dusky night. Her face filled his vision; he ignored all others around him – that is, until he felt a tugging on his sleeve.

'Strider, Strider,' he heard one of the halflings hiss. Reluctantly, he looked down and found himself looking into Pippin's large eyes.

'What is it, Peregrin?'

'Strider, the Lady Arwen is staring at you.'

Aragorn supressed a smile.

'Why is she staring at you, Strider? Do you know her well? I only saw her that first night at the feast; she's awfully pretty, isn't she, Strider?'

Aragorn looked back at Arwen. She had obviously guessed what was now happening, as she had a smile on her face as she observed them.

'Yes, she is,' Aragorn agreed.

'Do you like her, Strider? I think she likes you. She hasn't stopped staring at you since we came out here. Then again, I think _all_ the lady elves here like you; they're all staring at you,' Pippin chattered on.

Aragorn smiled down at the little hobbit in front of him.

'Strider, I think you and the Lady Arwen would be good together,' Merry interjected. He had obviously heard Pippin's earlier comments and was now presenting his opinion. 'Don't you think, Sam? Don't you think Strider and Arwen would make a good couple?'

Sam shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

'I wouldn't like to say, Mr Merry. 'Tis not my place to say.'

'I think yes, Merry. Really, Strider; she obviously likes you. You should talk to her.' This was Frodo now.

'Oh? Really?' Aragorn looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

'Yes. Merry's good at talking to girls; he can give you tips if you're a bit shy,' Frodo continued seriously, perfectly earnest.

'Oh, but Frodo! The girls never like him back, so it's not really any use – do you remember when Merry had a thing for Blossom Bracegirdle, and she told him she _would_ go out with him… if he was anyone else but himself? And then there was when he liked Linnea Chubb-'

'Pippin! Hush!' Merry elbowed his younger cousin. 'Don't listen to him, Strider. I am actually very popular with girls; Pip's just jealous.'

'Indeed, I am sure you are, Meriadoc,' Aragorn soothed. He looked back up Arwen, and her eyes were alight with laughter as she smiled. 'Maybe you can tell me the reasons for your success once we begin our journey.'

Merry nodded eagerly and Pippin just laughed. At that moment Gandalf came out from the hall and joined the fellowship. After the final words of farewell, the Fellowship was on their way. Aragorn looked back one more time at Arwen, filling his gaze with as much meaning, of love and the promise to return, as he could; then followed the rest of the company.

Merry saw Aragorn stare with longing back at the Lady Arwen, and understood. He wouldn't be needing Merry's tips. Merry caught Strider's eye, and winked.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, I think this is possibly my favourite chapter... Ah the cheeky little hobbits! :)**_

_**Please let me know what you think! It means so much to me. Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed and added me to your follow/favourite lists! :D**_

**_Thank you so much and Happy Reading! :)_**


	5. Insults

**5: The dwarf insults the elf... and a hobbit gets caught in the crossfire  
**

The land the Fellowship was slowly making their way through was steadily becoming more sparsely vegetated as they travelled further away from Rivendell and the mountains on the horizon were growing, looming ominously. The hobbits were keeping together, walking in a little knot gathered around Bill the pony. Gimli was just ahead of them, with Gandalf leading. Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas were following them, bringing up the rear.

It was starting to grow light when Gandalf decided to stop for the day, preferring to travel by night in order to keep hidden as much as possible; the sky was growing lighter in the east, a pale shade of azure tinged with soft pink clouds. They had stopped in the shelter of some trees, of which there were not many in the surrounding area.

Gandalf walked around, assessing the area, while Aragorn scouted out a little brook nearby which was bubbling and chattering merrily, and filled their water skins. Sam began to light a little fire while Merry and Pippin unpacked the food; the two of them had made that their job alone – they were fond of looking after the food store, and possibly supplementing their own dinners from it all the while. Frodo sat near Sam on an upturned log, his head bowed. The thought of the quest ahead lay heavy on his mind.

Gimli was standing, leaning on his axe. Legolas was staring at the trees, holding his bow. Boromir had sat down and was watching Sam light the fire. When Aragorn returned Sam got out his cooking pots and began to create a delicious stew, thick and meaty with sweet vegetables and aromatic herbs. Everyone had agreed that Sam was indeed a very good cook, and as he seemed to get much enjoyment from the task he had been unofficially appointed the cook.

As they all tucked in to their meal, gathered in a ring around the fire, Gimli let out a sigh.

'This is good, master hobbit,' he said appreciatively. 'but nothing can ever beat the food of Dwarven halls. Roasted meat, juicy and tender, and great hunks of golden bread…'

Legolas had a pained expression on his face.

'If you don't mind, some of us here are used to more refined cuisine than your Dwarven civilisations are perhaps used to.'

Gimli sat up, his bowl of stew forgotten.

'What's that, elf? You think that your foods are better than what we can offer? From what I've heard there's not a piece of meat in sight and you all eat like rabbits, nibbling on salad. None of that namby-pamby boring nonsense for me. Give me good, proper, hearty food any day. You can keep your leaves-'

Legolas set his bowl down, his dark eyes staring straight at Gimli in a dangerous way.

'You tread dangerously, Master Dwarf.' His voice was threatening, low; but Gimli either didn't notice or didn't care. Gimli stood up, angry at having been interrupted.

'Oh aye, no doubt I do. But I can see that your diet obviously reflects your personalities.'

All of a sudden Legolas was up on his feet as well, his bow in his hand and an arrow nocked and ready, pointing straight at Gimli.

Gimli gave a squawk of surprise and did the only thing he could think of to protect himself from the wrath of the elf: turned and stood behind the hobbit closest to him, hiding behind Merry as if he were a shield.

Merry gave a squeak of surprise, and then froze as he saw the arrow pointing in his direction. The rest of the Fellowship had also stilled in shock, sitting silent and shocked as they observed the unfolding of these events.

'Take it back, Dwarf,' Legolas said quietly and menacingly.

'No! It's true! I will not take it back-'

'You seem to forget that I have a loaded bow.'

'Ah, Mr Legolas, please-' Merry began, but when the elf ignored him he was silent again.

Gimli was holding him tight, and Merry began to lose feeling in his fingertips as the dwarf stopped all blood flow from his upper arm.

Suddenly a loud roar burst through their camp. Everyone looked up in surprise, expecting some sort of enemy bearing down on them; what they were not expecting was to see Boromir, hands on his stomach, laughing hard. Legolas looked disgruntled and lowered his bow; Gimli loosened his grip on Merry but didn't let go completely.

Boromir wiped his eyes and drew in a few gulping breaths as he tried to regain composure.

Legolas threw a dirty look at Gimli, but resumed his seat. Gimli let go of Merry and also sat down. Merry rubbed his hands and upper arms gingerly as he also sat down next to Pippin.

Addressing Pippin, he whispered, 'Remind me _never_ to sit next to Gimli again.'

* * *

_**A/N: So, what did you think?! I really hope you liked it! There may be a bit of a break between this and the next update but I promise it won't be that long - probably early next week. **_

_**In the meantime, I hope you have enjoyed what's up so far, and please please Review! :D**_


	6. Pranks

**6: You're on the receiving end of a practical joke**

'Frodo, listen to this…'

'Pippin, don't do that; I'm listening to Merry…'

'Sam, come here, quick!'

The hobbits were getting ready for bed, the company having stopped to rest for the day in an area that was becoming rocky and mountainous. There was not a lot of vegetation but many of the rocks were overhanging, creating shady caves, in one of which the Fellowship was resting.

The hobbits had at this point become distracted by something, and preparation for bed had ceased as they gathered together in a little knot, heads forward and speaking in excited whispers. Pippin was bouncing up and down and had a huge grin on his face as he listened to what Frodo was saying. Frodo placed a calming hand on Pippin's shoulder to get him to stop moving.

'You'll give us away!' he hissed, giving his young cousin a warning glare.

Pippin stilled, but the grin remained on his face.

Gandalf was watching them; he could tell they were up to something but he wasn't sure what.

'Frodo?' he called to the group. Instantly they all stilled, and Frodo peered around Merry's head, his large eyes slightly guilty.

'Yes, Gandalf?' he asked.

'Aren't you getting ready to sleep? We have a long way to go tonight.'

'Of course, Gandalf. We're going…' He glanced meaningfully at the others and the group dispersed, each becoming absorbed in the tasks of unrolling bed mats and distributing the blankets between them.

Gandalf shook his head and sighed. He would never understand hobbits. He was surprised at how cheerful they all were, considering the nature of this quest. He could see there were moments where Frodo succumbed to the fear and anxieties that accompanied his role as Ring Bearer, and Gandalf was glad that he had championed Merry and Pippin: they and Sam helped keep the worst of the shadows at bay.

Gandalf walked over to where Aragorn and Legolas were sitting at the mouth of their rocky overhang, ready to take first watch. They looked up as he approached, then resumed staring out and scanning the horizon when they saw who it was.

He stood next to them for a while. Satisfied there was nothing untoward in the vicinity, he turned to the others.

'The hobbits are planning something,' he said. 'Be alert.'

Aragorn and Legolas nodded, and Gandalf turned away and returned to his own sleeping space. Throwing a last cautious glance over at the hobbits, he lay down and placed his hat next to him. He kept hold of his staff. He was just getting comfortable – as comfortable as he knew was possible – when Samwise came hobbling over to him.

'Mr Gandalf, sir, I need the loo,' he whispered desperately, hopping from one foot to the other.

'Samwise, you know perfectly well you can go outside; just let Aragorn and Legolas know!'

Irritably he rolled over again and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

'You know what you need, Sam?' Merry's voice floated up to Sam as he stood up.

'Absolutely, Mr Merry. I'll be back in a tick.'

As he walked over to Gandalf, deliberately hobbling in case anyone was watching. He told Gandalf he needed the loo and got exactly the answer he wanted. As he walked to the exit of their shelter, he looked back at Frodo and the others, who were all peering at him solemnly, gave a quick nod, then ducked out of the cave.

'Samwise, where are you going?' he heard Legolas call to him.

'I need to _go_!' Sam called desperately, hoping he was inflecting his voice with enough need.

'Aha,' he heard the elf whisper, and Legolas retreated a few metres to give Sam some privacy. Sam had gone round to the back of the rock shelf where there were a few stubby bushes. He did not really need the toilet; instead he looked around and scanned the ground for what he was looking for. The something that was incredibly important. Slightly further back Sam found some – long, tough grass; quite thick and very strong.

Sam was ecstatic when he noticed some rather hardy flowers nearby; not very pretty but they were a deep orange colour and would be absolutely perfect. Delighted, he gathered as much grass as he could stuff up his shirt and into his breeches pockets, and picked a good many flowers. Hoping it was enough, he strolled back into the cave at a much more relaxed pace.

Once in, he hurried over to the other hobbits, who had begun to whisper and giggle when they saw him.

'I got it!' he whispered excitedly.

'Excellent!' he heard Frodo exclaim softly.

'And you know what to do, Sam?' asked Merry anxiously.

'Don't you worry naught, Mr Merry. My uncle Andfast were a rope-maker an' he taught me a good deal. Just you wait; this'll be the finest bit o' twine you'll ever see…'

To accompanying background noise of excited whisperings and exasperated hushings, Sam got out the grass and began to weave and twist.

* * *

That evening Gandalf was woken by Boromir and Gimli, who had taken over from Legolas and Aragorn at some point during the day.

He sat up rather groggily and rubbed his eyes, grabbing his hat as he did so and pulling it down onto his head. He stood up stiffly and brushed his robes down. He noticed that the hobbits were already up – that was unusual; he wondered what they'd been up to.

Walking out of the cave he saw everyone gathered round a campfire, and went to join them, glad of the warmth the campfire offered his hands. Gratefully, he held them out to receive the welcome heat.

As he walked, Pippin started sniggering, and Gandalf saw Merry elbow him. The other hobbits were keeping their eyes resolutely on the ground, and Frodo was particularly absorbed in observing a little pebble by his toe.

Unnerved by the hobbits' behaviour, Gandalf turned to Aragorn to ask what was going on – and the Ranger was standing staring at Gandalf with a bemused expression on his face. Boromir and Gimli were open mouthed, and even the elf was trying to suppress a smile… and failing. The corners of Legolas' mouth were upturned. If even the elf was laughing, something must be funny.

Heaving a sigh, Gandalf suddenly understood the reason for the way the hobbits were acting.

'Alright,' he turned back to them. 'What have you done now?'

'You might wish to… check your hat, Gandalf,' he heard Aragorn say behind him, and he detected the faint tremor of laughter barely being held in check.

Scowling at the hobbits, who at least had the grace to look ashamed, Gandalf removed his hat and looked at the damage done. He visibly recoiled from the _thing_ he was holding.

Someone had tied a woven rope around the base of his hat, and it circled around the tapering point; his hat was now adorned with little orange the _bow_...

He, Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir, Olórin, one of the Istari, had been the butt of one of the hobbit's jokes and here he was with what was now a bonnet. He looked like a _female_ (if you ignored the beard).

Staring at the abomination that was now his hat, he was unprepared to hear a soft laugh, feather light and clear-cut as crystal.

There was only one race who laughed like that.

Gandalf turned once again, this time to see Legolas laughing steadily harder; although the elf was too garceful to lose his composure or dignity as he laughed, the mirth in his eyes was unmistakable.

Gimli and Boromir and the hobbits were all staring in wonder at Legolas; they had never seen the elf laugh – or indeed any elf for that matter.

Gandalf couldn't help but chuckle then. If it had made the _elf_ laugh it must have looked absolutely ridiculous.

He forgave the hobbits and they were soon on their way; but not after he had put Sam's weaving skills to good use and he had fashioned the hobbits each a little circular head-dress of woven grass and bright orange flowers.

* * *

**_A/N: Ha. I like this chapter too. Cruel Gandalf, he sure knows how to get revenge, doesn't he?! _**

**_I hope you enjoyed and I'd love to know what you thought, so please review! :)_**


	7. Games

**7: No one understands Hobbit games**

The mood of the Fellowship had swiftly changed as they drew nearer to the Pass of Caradhras. The others were becoming sombre and grim, and Boromir was often grumbling to himself as no one heeded his advice to travel further south to reach the Gap of Rohan.

The hobbits were starting to feel worried by the dark mood surrounding them, and so one day when they had stopped for their mid-way meal they decided to play a game.

'Merry, I'm bored,' Pippin complained. Pippin was finding it the most difficult of them all to adapt to the more silent environment they now travelled in.

'Hush, Pip. I know. Me too.'

Frodo peered up at them from where he was sat nibbling on his bread. He felt sorry for his cousins; they didn't have to come with him but he was grateful every day that they were here – they helped keep his mind off the fears of the road ahead and for that he would be eternally grateful.

Seeing the miserable look in their eyes, he called out, 'we could play a game.'

Merry and Pippin looked at him, eyes wide.

'We could?' Pippin said excitedly, and began to hop on the spot. 'A game, Merry! Frodo says we can play a game!'

'I heard, Pippin!'

But Merry too could not hide his excitement.

Sam looked up from where he sat by Bill, and even he was cheered by the prospect of a game. Anything to lighten the mood.

'Do you have any ideas, Sam?' Frodo asked.

Sam thought for a moment.

'Well, there is one I can think of. I often played it as parties when I was a faunt…'

'What is it, Sam? What is it?' asked Pippin excitedly.

'It's called "Tig",' said Sam. 'Have you heard of it?'

'Of course we have!' cried Merry and Pippin together, and Frodo nodded.

Eagerly, they gathered together and sat in a circle.

The other members of the Fellowship were watching them with interest. They were all feeling a little down and this would be sure to cheer them up, to warm the very cockles of their hearts.

Merry began by tapping Sam's shoulder.

'Tig,' he said.

Sam tapped Pippin.

'Tag,' he said.

'So what actually happens here?' asked Boromir interestedly, but the hobbits all shushed him and glared at him, and continued their game.

Pippin tapped Frodo enthusiastically – eliciting a small wince from the older hobbit as he did so.

'Tog,' he practically shouted in excitement.

Frodo completed the circle by tapping Merry's shoulder and saying 'Tug'.

Merry tapped Sam's shoulder again; 'Tig-Tag'.

Sam tapped Pippin; 'Tig-tag-tog'.

Pippin punched Frodo again as he exclaimed 'Tig-tag-_tug_!'

Frodo tapped Merry and said 'Tig-tag-tig.'

'No, Frodo, that's not allowed! You can't double-tig in the same go as a tag!' Pippin berated his oldest cousin.

The others were all furrowing their brows as the game continued, trying to work out the rules. There were a lot of indignant cries from Pippin as various hobbits played wrong moves and said invalid statements, but the rest of the Fellowship couldn't for the life of them decipher the reasons _why_ they were wrong or what _should_ be right.

As the game progressed and the corrections from Pippin became ever more frequent and ever more cross, the rest of the Fellowship were becoming increasingly more confused and seeing as whenever any of them tried to ask for an explanation they were ignored completely, the game was making them more and more tense – and they weren't even the ones taking part.

Completely bemused and befuddled, the others shared a quick glance as a sudden cry came from Pippin.

'_I_ said that one before, Merry, which means you're out; and therefore I win!'

As Merry groaned and Frodo and Sam began laughing, Aragorn took this opportunity to demand an explanation. All four hobbits turned to look at him incredulously.

'You mean you don't know?' Pippin asked in a tone that was almost offended.

The Fellowship shook their heads.

'Not… Not even you, Gimli? Or you, Boromir? None of you have played Tig before?'

Silence.

'But it's so simple!' Merry cried. 'You mean you really don't understand?'

'Says you, Merry,' Frodo interjected. 'You still didn't win.'

Merry acknowledged this with a nod of his head.

Sam was looking incredulously at the rest of the Fellowship.

'Well,' he said, 'it's not that difficult. We could teach them, I suppose…'

The rest of the Fellowship agreed to this and all aside from Gandalf joined the hobbits' circle, while Gandalf kept watch.

Half an hour later, the Fellowship were more confused than ever, and the hobbits rather frustrated.

'Look, it's _simple_,' Sam said. 'Double-tigging after a tag is not allowed, nor is triple tagging after a tog, and you must never, ever tag after a tug…'

And so the list of rules went on and on. Eventually Legolas, Boromir, Aragorn and Gimli all admitted defeat and went back to the much simpler tasks of preparing to get back on the road.

'I am so confused…' Gimli muttered darkly as the hobbits returned to playing it amongst themselves. 'Who knew they took games so seriously?'

The Fellowship resumed their journey a while later, their cockles far from warmed and instead more irritated that they were beaten by a children's game.

* * *

**_A/N: Well, I hope you liked this! I got the idea after listening to the Cast Commentary on the Extended Edition of FotR. You can find a clip on Youtube, I think. _**

**_I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review! :D_**


	8. Hair

**8: Everyone ruffles your hair. Just because you're short…**

The sun was high in the sky as the Fellowship rested for the day, waiting until nightfall to resume their journey. Frodo and Sam were sleeping, while Gandalf smoked his pipe. Legolas and Aragorn had gone to forage for food and fill the water skins, Boromir was showing Merry and Pippin how to use the swords they had received from Aragorn at Weathertop and Gimli was sharpening his axe.

Merry and Pippin were having a whale of a time, learning everything Boromir could teach them, and soon Boromir decided to have a little sparring match with each. Merry and Pippin put up a good fight, each of them blocking many of Boromir's blows and parrying. Merry even managed to dodge and give Boromir's leg a whack with the flat of his sword.

Surprised, Boromir was brought down by the quick movement, and he lay on his back gasping for breath.

'Boromir?' asked Merry timidly, worried he had hurt Boromir. Boromir just laughed and stood up, brushing down his clothes and trying to regain some dignity.

'Don't worry, little one. I'm fine! I was just a little surprised at the unexpected attack; that was good thinking!'

Merry beamed. Laughing at Merry's expression, Boromir chuckled and extended a hand. Gently, he ruffled Merry's pale brown curls. Immediately, Merry's face changed into a scowl; that gesture reminded him of the way his older cousins would laugh and tease him as they did exactly that. Boromir quickly withdrew his hand, and turning to Pippin hurriedly proceeded to continue the lesson.

* * *

That afternoon, once Sam and Frodo had rested and were awake and the other members of their company returned from their jobs, Sam started to cook dinner. It was eventually ready and he walked around to everyone, carrying their plate and some cutlery carefully and handing it to them.

Everyone accepted the food gratefully; they were only allowed two large meals and a small portion of bread at lunch, and snacking was strictly forbidden by Gandalf. Gimli was particularly glad when his food arrived; giving a whoop of joy he took his portion and clapped Sam on the back.

'Bless you, laddie!' he exclaimed.

Sam nodded and murmured something along the lines of 'you're welcome'; as he turned to go Gimli's large gloved hand came down on his head and (rather roughly) ruffled his hair. 'You're a fine lad, Master Hobbit,' Gimli said, turning away and settling down to eat his meal.

Sam rubbed his head ruefully and straightened out his curls, then continued to hand out the rest of the food.

* * *

There was still a while before it grew dark, so the members of the Fellowship were sitting around their small fire. Pippin was listening to Gandalf talk while the others did their own thing. Pippin was enraptured by Gandalf's story, and Gandalf himself was rather amused and flattered at the young hobbit's reactions. Pippin was sitting close to Gandalf, the better to see the wizard as he recounted his tales.

At one moment, Gandalf made a wide sweeping motion with his arm to demonstrate a point he was making and swept poor Pippin right off his perch at Gandalf's side.

Glancing down in surprise at Pippin lying sprawled on the floor, Gandalf leaned down and pulled the hobbit upright.

'Sorry, young Pippin; quite accidental I assure you. Are you hurt?'

'No, Gandalf; I'm quite fine, thank you,' Pippin replied solemnly. He had found it rather amusing, actually, and judging from the snickers he could hear from the other side of the fire he assumed Merry had too.

'That's good,' Gandalf replied in an equally sombre tone, and as Pippin settled himself back down onto the log that was serving as his seat, Gandalf gently ruffled Pippin's brown curls. 'Wouldn't want you to be unable to walk tonight, eh?'

'Indeed,' said Pippin crossly. He hated it when people touched his hair.

* * *

Darkness had finally fallen and they were once again resuming their journey. In the twilight shadows were everywhere and it was difficult to make out where everyone was.

Frodo was walking, following Gandalf as the wizard set their course, when suddenly a darker patch appeared noiselessly at his side.

Startled, he looked up, only to find Legolas looking at him.

'Worry not, little Halfling,' he elf spoke softly. 'It is only I.'

Frodo nodded and looked back at the ground, making sure he did not trip over.

There was silence until the elf spoke suddenly.

'Master Frodo, I have spent much time with you and your kin these past weeks. Yet there is one thing which continues to fascinate me about you.'

'Oh?' asked Frodo. There was nothing about hobbits he thought could be particularly fascinating to an elf.

'Yes. Your hair…' Legolas said reverently, staring unblinkingly at Frodo's mop of dark curls adorning his head.

'My hair?' Frodo asked uncertainly. Really? His hair?

'Yes indeed. My people have never encountered such hair as yours. We are a race of beings with straight hair, you see; an occasional elf will be born with hair that falls in soft waves but never with locks that curl like yours.'

'Ah. I see. Well, everyone at home has curly hair,' Frodo replied. 'There are no straight-haired hobbits.'

'Frodo, may I ask of you something?'

'Yes,' Frodo responded a little worriedly.

'May I… May I touch your hair? I would know what it feels like,' Legolas said.

'You'd like to touch my hair?' Frodo never thought he would receive a request like that from an elf. 'Of course, if you want to.'

'Thank you…' the elf whispered.

Gently, Legolas touched one dark curl, as black as coal in this light, and twisted it round in his fingers.

'So soft,' he said, holding the single lock of hair between his fingers as if it was a treasured and priceless object.

'Thank you…' Frodo said, not really sure how to respond. He'd never been in a position like this before.

Legolas suddenly shook himself.

'I thank you, master Halfling. You are most kind.'

Frodo nodded, and then just as suddenly as he had appeared, the elf melted swiftly into the shadows.

* * *

_**A/N: Aw, those poor hobbits. It must have got really annoying... :P**_

_**I hope you liked this chapter; it's slightly different from the others in that it's less like a story and it's just moments, but hey!**_

_**I really really really hope you enjoyed it! Thank you all so much for reading, and to those of you reviewing - I cannot thank you enough! Reviews are so encouraging and they make me so happy! So go on, make my day... :)** _


	9. Food

**9: You learn the hard way that you will do anything to get food**

The Fellowship were sitting at the foot of Caradhras, unwilling to start this journey just yet, and Sam was preparing food for them. Gandalf was chewing on his pipe thoughtfully, while the others sat and stared into the flames of the small campfire Sam had managed to get going.

'Are you sure you will not reconsider, Gandalf? Continue on south to the gap of Rohan?'

'No, Boromir, I have told you before; it takes us too close to Saruman. Now that he has proved himself false, it would be too risky. I will not take that chance.'

Boromir returned to watching the fire once more.

'You are certain, Gandalf? These snowy peaks and tall heights seem perilous indeed to me. Is it any less risky than what I suggest?'

Aragorn threw a sharp look at Boromir.

'Gandalf has made his position clear, Boromir. We have trusted him thus far; why not now? Why do you continue to disagree?'

'Because I am not certain we are making the right choice! Because I have doubts about those who claim to lead us!' Boromir said angrily, jumping to his feet. He wearily sat back down again, head in his hands.

The hobbits had stopped talking and were staring at the two Men, caught in conflict.

Thankfully they were soon distracted by Sam coming round with the bowls of hot soup. He walked around handing everyone their bowl, and they all murmured appreciatively in thanks over their bowl full of tasty broth.

All except Boromir.

He took his dish from Sam and nodded in thanks, then stopped. He looked down at his bowl and stared. Sam had returned to his place by Mr Frodo and was resolutely ignoring Boromir's bewildered glances.

The reason for Boromir's confusion was not entirely clear to the rest of the Fellowship at once, but Boromir soon enlightened them.

'Sam. Sam, my bowl is empty.'

The others all stared.

'Samwise?'

Sam looked up and peered at the Man's bowl.

''Tis not empty, begging your pardon,' he said politely.

'Sam, there is not enough here to fill the stomach of a child, let alone me!'

Sam shrugged and sat back down.

Merry and Pippin were sniggering at this turn of events. Boromir glared at them.

'Why are you laughing? This isn't funny!'

By the guffaws emitting from their throats, it evidently was.

Boromir huffed as he sat down.

'I don't understand. Why has Sam not given me any food?'

Sam was throwing dirty looks at the Gondorian as he tucked into his bowl of soup. Frodo gave a sidelong look at his friend, and smiled. He cleared his throat.

'It's because you insulted Aragorn and Gandalf.'

Boromir looked at Frodo, and then at the two others in question. Aragorn was looking at Sam and Gandalf was chuckling to himself. Boromir would not apologise to these two; the so-called wizard and supposed 'King'… he was heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, and was not used to having to apologise.

'Sam takes these things _very_ seriously,' Merry said sombrely.

After Sam's initial mistrust of Aragorn, he had indeed apologised and now was as devoted to Aragorn as he was protective of Frodo. He didn't like the way Boromir didn't treat Aragorn with the respect he was due, especially as Aragorn was technically his king.

And, well, anyone with a brain didn't disrespect a wizard.

'Right. Well,' Boromir said. He realised that if he didn't apologise now, it was likely empty bowls would be a recurring theme for him.

'Best do it quick, laddie. Get it over and done with,' advised a gruff Gimli.

Boromir cleared his throat, but no sound came out.

Everyone was looking at him expectantly. Especially Sam.

'Ok. I… Aragorn, Gandalf…'

They were looking at him with sight smiles, and a hush was over the camp.

Clearing his throat once more, Boromir said all in a rush, 'I am sorry for any disrespect I may have shown.' The words came tumbling out of his mouth as if reluctant.

He glanced at Sam. Sam was regarding him with an eyebrow raised.

Boromir sighed.

'Ok, I apologise for the disrespect I _did_ show you. There. Can I please have some dinner now?'

Sam had a satisfied smile on his face at Boromir's evident discomfort, but he readily rook the Man's bowl and filled it with the steaming, fragrant broth.

Boromir knew he wouldn't be getting on the wrong side of Samwise Gamgee again anytime soon, particularly if Sam continued to be in charge of food.

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you liked it! Please Review :D**_


	10. Mistakes

_**Ok, Final Chapter! There's a bit of a time jump here. I apologise...**_

* * *

**10: the Ranger is wrong and the Man is right. (**_**Really?**_**)**

The sound of rushing water and the dip of oars were the only sounds the Fellowship could hear. As they sat in the boats, given to them by the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, they were heavy hearted and there was little, if any, conversation. Even Merry and Pippin were quiet; they were feeling the loss of Gandalf just as keenly as the rest of the group, if not more than some.

After the failed attempt to cross the pass of Caradhras, they had entered the mines of Moria, against Gandalf's better judgment – and now here they were, drifting down a river, one member short and with no clear direction.

As it began to grow dark, Aragorn motioned to the rest of the group to make for the western shore, where they would stop for the night.

Once all the boats were drawn up and everyone was gathered around, Sam began to build a fire.

Legolas spoke in a hushed voice to Aragorn; and Aragorn tersely nodded. The elf sat back down.

'I am going to look for food,' Aragron spoke aloud to the group, 'to supplement our supplies. We must save as much Lembas bread as we can.'

Everyone knew that while the supply of elven bread they had been given looked infinite, they still had a long way to go and the journey would only get harder.

Boromir stood up. He looked haggard and tired, but insisted on coming with Aragorn. His head felt full of fluff and he needed to clear it. A walk in the forest would do the trick.

Aragorn looked at Legolas and Gimli.

'Look after the hobbits,' he cautioned. He got grim nods in reply.

Aragorn and Boromir set off, scanning the shrubs and ground for nuts and berries and other edible items. The two trod as silently as possible, but Boromir was not as quiet as Aragorn and this was the source of some annoyance to the Ranger. He kept shooting warning looks at the Gondorian but Boromir paid no heed.

They continued to walk and search, until not long after Aragorn placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder and pointed. On a bush just ahead there were round berries growing, small and blue. They looked like blueberries, and were the same shape and size. Aragorn picked one off the bush and made to put it into his mouth when suddenly –

'_No_!'

Boromir knocked the berry from Aragorn's hand.

Annoyed, Aragorn glared at Boromir.

'What was that for? It's just a blueberry-'

'Aragorn, you were about to poison yourself. That is no blueberry.'

Boromir picked another off the bush.

'This is the lantana berry. Poisonous.' Boromir threw the berry away into the undergrowth.

'Now look here Boromir, I think I know my berries.'

'Well you obviously didn't know this one.'

Aragorn was growing steadily more indignant.

He was a Ranger, he foraged daily to stay alive, and here was some man who had grown up in a _city_ trying to tell him which berries were edible or not!

'Boromir, I am a _Ranger_…'

'Yes, maybe, but you haven't been this far south before. There are many different berries here than you find in Northern climes.'

'Boromir, really, I…' Aragorn spluttered. How could he be mistaken in a matter as trivial as this?

Suddenly they heard a twig snap behind them. They both spun round, fearing an army of orcs bearing down on them, and they were immensely relieved when Legolas stepped out from behind a tree, carrying a rabbit with his bow slung over his arm.

'You were taking a while,' he said, shrugging. 'And on my way to look for you this stepped into my path.' He gestured at the rabbit. Then he saw the berries and came to peer at them.

'Oh no, lantana berries. You mustn't eat these, Aragorn.'

Aragorn stared at the elf. So now even the elf recognised these berries? He wouldn't have been surprised if the hobbits could identify them too, at this rate.

'Yes, that's what I was telling him,' Boromir said crossly.

'You mean you were going to eat them, Aragorn? I would have though you, of all people, would recognise these…'

'Yes, yes, Legolas, thank you,' Aragorn muttered irritably. 'Let's just go back now shall we?'

Aragorn stumped off back in the direction of the camp.

Boromir and Legolas looked at each other.

'Perhaps we don't tell the others?' the elf suggested.

Boromir agreed. Who knew what hell Aragorn would create for them if they let slip that the Ranger, possibly for the first time in his life, had been mistaken.

Boromir couldn't help smiling a little smugly though, as they trudged back to where the others were waiting.

His smile grew even larger when later that night, while on guard duty, he heard Aragorn come up behind him and whisper an apology and thank you into his ear.

Perhaps he could grow to quite like this Aragorn fellow after all…

**The End**

* * *

_**A/N: Well, it's been a journey, but now it's finished! I am finishing the story here, but who knows, maybe if I get some more inspiration things might change. I'd love to know what everyone thought of this story, and I'm incredibly interested to know which chapter was everyone's favourite? Or chapter****s****, plural! Personally I like 'Dating'. But please let me know yours! Reviews are incredibly welcome! :D **_

_**But for now, farewell my dear readers, and a huge huge THANK YOU to all of you for reading! Especially if you reviewed and added me or the story to your Follow/Favourite lists! I can't express how much I appreciate it. :)**_

_**And now, 'I bid you all a very fond farewell!'**_


	11. Sleep

A/N: I'm back! This is the first chapter of The Two Towers. It's dedicated to all of you lovely reviewers who wanted more! I want to thank you all so much, as your comments are so encouraging! :) I hope you enjoy the new chapters! :)

* * *

_**The Awkward Moment When...**_

**11: Someone falls asleep... during the Uruk-hai chase!**

Gimli could feel himself begin to tire. His legs were growing impossibly heavy, as was his heart. He couldn't see how Merry and Pippin could still be alive, when the Uruk-hai were so far ahead; it surely would be impossible to catch up with them. He couldn't help but feel that all was lost.

He began to fall behind, weighed down as he was by worry. He had done well so far to keep up with Legolas, who as an Elf did not tire easily, and Aragorn, who had trained for most of his life outdoors. While hope burned in their hearts, they ran tirelessly; but Gimli's endurance began to fade as the flame of urgency waned and was nearly extinguished.

They had been running for three days, and the Uruk-hai were steadily drawing further and further ahead of them. Legolas, seeing Gimli lagging behind, motioned to Aragorn that they should rest for a moment; it wouldn't do to tire Gimli out so much that they were left with an unconscious Dwarf to lug across Middle-Earth.

Drawing to a halt, Aragorn fished around in his pack to find the parcels of Elven Lembas bread. Gimli gratefully leaned against a tall boulder, catching his breath. He hadn't been training enough before he came on this Quest… Perhaps he should have spent more time on improving his endurance than perfecting his beard-plaiting skills – his plaits, remarkable as they were, paled in comparison with Legolas intricate hairstyle anyway.

Gimli's lids were heavy; he'd just rest his eyes a little while Aragorn sorted out food…

Aragorn had located the Lembas, and broke one of the wafers into three.

'Legolas,' he called, and threw one to the Elf, who caught it deftly, and began nibbling daintily.

'Gimli,' Aragorn called the Dwarf's name, and tossed one in Gimli's direction. There was no response other than a grunt and what sounded like a snort.

Startled, Aragorn and Legolas both turned, wondering what had made the noise.

They were _not _expecting to see Gimli leaning back onto a boulder, his mouth open in a snore and completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He didn't respond when Aragorn shouted repeatedly at him to wake up.

Legolas was nearly sniggering. 'What happened to Dwarves being tough and enduring? Ours must be faulty.'

Aragorn laughed. It felt strange, after so long spent in silence and all concentration being on getting that next breath, but it was a good feeling. It felt like he'd almost forgotten how to laugh.

Suddenly Legolas gave a grin, as sly as a cat and unlike his usual neutral expression. It was reminiscent of Pippin's, when he and Merry had been up to mischief. Even Aragorn was a little wary when he saw this rare smile spread across Legolas' face.

'I know what will wake him up…'

Aragorn grew more worried.

'Don't worry, it's nothing bad!'

That's not what Aragorn thought, when Legolas had whipped his bow out before he'd even finished the sentence. That looked like something bad, to him.

Legolas walked right up to Gimli quickly and just as fast whacked him in the stomach with the bow.

'Wake up,' he said shortly.

Gimli doubled over and woke with a start at the sudden blow. He looked up to see Legolas standing over him, a smile on his face which was admittedly slightly apologetic but also extremely smug.

'You didn't have to do that!'

'No, I didn't. I could have pulled your plaits instead. The plaits you spent so long perfecting…'

Gimli gave a grunt and stomped past Legolas.

'Don't forget your Lembas!' Legolas cried after him, and Gimli looked back at him with a glower.

He'd show the Elf. He'd show him how tough Dwarves really were…

* * *

_**A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this! You know the drill, please review as it makes me so incredibly happy! :D Once again, Thank You to all of you who reviewed previously, it really is so encouraging.**__**Happy Reading! :D**_


	12. Horses

**12: One of the company dislikes the method of travel**

The man who called himself Éomer sat towering above them on his horse. Gimli narrowed his eyes as he stared up at him; the man had just told them that he and his bunch of soldiers might or might not have killed the two young Halflings, and Gimli was not impressed. He'd spent so long running to try and find Merry and Pippin, and to discover that they may have been killed by these people's carelessness… And this was a man who had offended the Lady Galadriel! Gimli didn't like this Éomer person.

The man was offering them horses. Gimli's stomach shrivelled into a little ball and sat, heavy, like a lead weight.

He would _not_ ride one of their horses. _No way_ in Middle-Earth would they get him on one of those horses…

Gimli tried to protest, but Aragorn insisted he would slow them down, while shooting Gimli a pointed glance (and when Gimli thought about it, he _was_ the one who had fallen asleep…)

'Sit behind me, _friend_ Gimli,' Legolas then said, in a honey-sweet voice that Gimli didn't trust for an instant. Gimli glared at Legolas. So they hadn't fought as much in the past week, but Gimli didn't think that restraining from strangling your companion automatically made you friends.

Gimli felt the eyes of not only Aragorn and Legolas, but all the Rohirrim soldiers, looking at him expectantly. There was only one thing for it. He would have to accept Legolas' invitation, and then put up a bit more of a fight once they were free of these men on great beastly horses.

With a disgruntled sigh, Gimli allowed himself to be lifted up behind Legolas – onto a horse which had no saddle. Legolas was such a show-off. He was an Elf, but how in all of Middle-earth was Gimli supposed to stay on this horse if it didn't even have a _saddle_? He clung tightly onto Legolas, hoping for dear life that the horse wouldn't make any sudden movements that would cause him to fall off.

They said their farewells, Gimli reminding Éomer about the wonder of the Lady of Lórien, and then suddenly Legolas had spurred their horse forward and Gimli was left clutching Legolas tightly.

They rode swiftly, Gimli not loosening his grip on the Elf one bit, until when they were out of sight of the Rohirrim Legolas began to slow down. Aragorn, seeing them fall back, also checked his mount, and reined in.

'What's the matter, Legolas?' Aragorn asked.

'Gimli, please let go of me,' Legolas managed to choke out. 'You're rather suffocating me.'

'Oops, sorry, _friend_ Legolas,' Gimli said, loosening his grip slightly. 'You know, Aragorn, really I should just run along beside you…'

'Gimli, we have covered three times as much ground as we would have on foot in the same amount of time. There is really no alternative to travelling on horse-back,' Aragorn pointed out.

'Honestly Gimli, anyone would think you were afraid of horses,' came Legolas voice, smug and insinuating.

'No. I'm not afraid. It's just a horse. Just a great big creature twice my height and prone to sudden movements-' he was cut off as their horse suddenly side-stepped beneath them.

'Aragorn, he's as uncomfortable up here as Samwise was in the boats!' Legolas laughed.

Aragorn gave a chuckle. He remembered the way Sam had gripped the sides of the Lórien boats, knuckles white and an intense look of concentration on his face as he tried to keep his balance while the boat was knocked and bumped around by the strong eddies and currents of the River Anduin.

Gimli gave a snort.

'I am not! I just prefer the feel of solid ground beneath my feet.'

'So if you're not scared, you won't mind at all if I do this-'

Legolas manoeuvred the horse and it swerved sharply to one side. Gimli yelped and nearly lost his seat, but managed to clutch onto Legolas in time to prevent himself from falling off.

Legolas and Aragorn were chuckling.

'Come on Legolas, Gimli,' Aragorn sighed. 'We must make haste.'

Once again they set off, and Gimli tried not to squeeze Legolas too hard, as every time he did tighten his grip the Elf would make a sharp turn or some other sudden swerve that would make Gimli give a squeak of surprise and nearly fall off. He soon learned that it was far better _not_ to squish the Elf.

Gimli spent the rest of the day with a scowl on his face. He could hear Legolas chuckling to himself throughout the whole of their journey that day. Gimli was _not_ going to be his '_friend_' after this. If he made it through the day without falling off the horse, he might have to rethink his previous resolution of not strangling the infuriatingly perfect Elf in front of him.

So much for showing him how tough Dwarves were supposed to be.

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_**A/N: in the chapter 'The Riders of Rohan', Gimli himself says: ' "I would sooner walk than sit on the back of a beast so great" '. It then says that he sits behind Legolas on their horse, 'clings' to him, and is 'not much more at ease than Sam Gamgee in a boat'. When I read that I just had to have Gimli being scared of horses as an awkward moment!**_

_**(And Legolas does actually say 'friend Gimli'. Just not sarcastically... :P)**_

_**I really hope you enjoyed it! Please review! You'll make my day :)**_


	13. Home

**_A/N: and it's... Merry and Pippin! I've missed them :')_**

**_(Remember that Pippin isn't yet of age, so is still a child in hobbit terms.)_**

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**13: People don't appreciate your home**

Merry and Pippin were tired. They had spent the day with Bregalad, one of the younger Ents, while Treebeard and many of the other Ents discussed whether or not to go to war. They had had a happy time of it that day – Bregalad was good company and often laughed. After so long spent being afraid, Merry and Pippin were relieved to be safe and would often join him in his laughter.

Bregalad found beauty in everything; there was not a single part of the forest which did not fill him with wonder and delight. Merry and Pippin found themselves wondering what they had been so afeared of in the first place.

Bregalad regaled them with tales of the Ents, and sung them songs of old, that he had learned as an Enting. He told them all about the ways of the Ents - how they lived, what their homes were like, and of the language of Old Entish.

Now night was falling, and the hobbits were tired after their day spent frolicking in the forest with Bregalad. They were to spend the night at his home while Entmoot continued.

When Pippin yawned, the Ent took pity on them and lifted them up, carrying them cradled, one in each arm. The hobbits observed their surroundings, still awed by the scale and age of Fangorn.

'This… is my home. Welcome to my Ent-house,' Bregalad said, his voice rumbling as he spoke.

Pippin and Merry looked around eagerly. They could see a flat mossy rock set across two raised turves, creating a hollow. A little waterfall bubbled softly at the mouth of the cave-like structure, filling the air with the soft music of running water. The air was peaceful here.

But Pippin was unimpressed.

'Where is it, Bregalad?'

'Why, right there,' Bregalad replied, gesturing to the cave.

'Really? You live in that? '

'Pippin!' Merry hushed his younger cousin frantically. 'Treebeard's was like this too, don't you remember?'

'No, Merry, I was too far asleep to notice Treebeard's house.'

Merry could feel the young Ent bristling in indignation at what he thought was Pippin's criticism of his house, but what Merry knew was Pip's childish curiosity coming through. Merry knew Pippin didn't mean to sound rude.

'Pippin, it's lovely, isn't it?' Merry tried desperately to get his cousin to agree, to soothe Bregalad.

'Well, Merry, I'm sure it is, but I was expecting something a little more… like a house.'

Bregalad was making rumbling noises in his throat.

'Bregalad, you know you have a reputation for being hasty? That's why you're known as Quickbeam? Well, I think old Treebeard would advise you not to be hasty…' Merry was getting desperate.

'Oh, Master Hobbit? And why is that?'

'Well you see, Pippin here meant that is that he has never seen a house as fine as yours. It's very beautiful indeed-'

'Incredibly beautiful!' Pippin cut in, nodding. He'd finally cottoned on.

'Yes. Exactly. He was struck with wonder at your home. We have very humble abodes at home in theShire – why, our cousin lives in a hole!'

'A hole!' Pippin repeated, nodding conspiratorially.

'A hole? Why ever would someone wish to live in a hole? That is strange.'

'Why ever indeed?' muttered Merry, looking at Bregalad's roofed hollow.

'Well, I shall forgive you, master Pippin. You should have said so before! Yes, I see now that I was a little hasty. Please forgive me. Treebeard would never let me forget it.'

'It's alright, Bregalad.' Pippin mouthed a silent 'thank you' to Merry. He didn't know what Ents were like when angry, but he didn't really want to find out.

And anyway, now he came to think of it, it _was_ a rather nice hollow…

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Pippin really doesn't think before he speaks... :P please Review! It makes me so halpy! Thank you to everyone for reading, and especially to everyone who is reviewing or adding this to their favs/follows! I really appreciate it :)**


	14. Stares

_**A/N: I'd just like to take a moment to really thank you all for reading and reviewing! I really do appreciate it and your comments really keep me inspired! As a Thank You gift I'd like to dedicate this chapter to those of you who have been constant companions and reviewers on this literary journey! In particular to Seafarer, animepercystyle, Sandy-wmd, PrincessMnMz and Starla Furan Aristelle - this one's for you! :)**_

_**Enjoy!**_

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**14: The others can't keep their eyes off you. Literally.**

Gandalf strode through the forest ahead of his companions. They were following him in an almost awestruck silence. He couldn't help but smile a little at their wonder at seeing him again; and truly it gladdened his heart to be with them once more.

Gandalf stared around the forest. It was old, and yet there were forces waking that would be strong once they had fully arisen. Meriadoc and Peregrin were in safe hands, as he had been eager to assure his companions when they had been reunited.

He could hear Gimli muttering under his breath about 'miracles' and 'wonderful'. That was something Gandalf had noticed – Legolas and Gimli seemed to be getting on incredibly well. Aside from a couple of comments about Fangorn from the Dwarf – opinions which didn't _entirely_ correspond to the Elf's – the two were being… well, _nice_ to one another. Gandalf welcomed the difference – the two had been at each other's throats when he had left them; he had been surprised when he had first re-joined them that one of them hadn't lost it with the other.

It was quiet in the forest, and change was in the wind that fluttered the branches and ruffled the leaves of the huge trees surrounding them.

As they walked, Gandalf could feel their eyes upon him. Gimli was still muttering in an awestruck manner, and Aragorn was throwing Gandalf particularly piercing looks. He supposed it was the white robes; they _were_ rather awe-inspiring, even if he did say so himself. They complemented his complexion far better than the grey ever had – why grey, anyway? Although to be fair, grey was better than brown; Gandalf had always felt a little sorry for Radagast.

Still they walked, in silence, and still Gandalf felt his companions' eyes on him at all times. It was really becoming rather unnerving now. Perhaps they could stop now, just for a while…? Surreptitiously he scanned his white robes for any stains, of mud or the like, that they could possibly have become engrossed in; but finding nothing, he assumed it must simply be his presence that they revelled in.

They continued to stare at him in a rather off-putting manner, even while he tried to make conversation to distract them. He tried pointing out funny rocks, or interesting shrubs, but to no avail. Stll their eyes were drawn to him, constantly gravitating back.

He checked his hair; nothing out of place there... Beard? Still perfect...

He sighed. It was _slightly_ grating now.

He turned to look at them.

'Now, my friends! Look at the beauty that surrounds us in this ancient forest of Fangorn!'

'Ah, Gandalf! Even the beauty of the forest pales at the wonder and joy we feel at your return!' Legolas exclaimed enthusiastically.

Gandalf gave a chuckle, and turned again to look at the others. They were _still_ observing him closely, as if he were going to disappear at any moment! Enough was enough, Gandalf decided.

'Aragorn, is there something on my robes?' he addressed the Ranger, innocently.

Aragorn started when he heard his name.

'Y- your robes? No. Everything's fine with your robes.'

'Alas, my hair, then?'

'No,' Aragorn replied. 'Why?'

Gandalf smiled at the others, and leaned in almost conspiratorially. 'You see, I can't shake the feeling that _people_ are watching me, you see. I wondered if it was because I'd sat in some mud or something of that ilk. White robes are a pain to keep clean; I don't envy Saruman his role for these past 2000 years.'

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli at least had the grace to look a little chagrined, and Gandalf began to hum nonchalantly.

They took _much_ more interest in the forest after that.

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**_A/N: I sincerely hope you enjoyed! Please review; I'd love to know what you thought!  
Apologies for the late update; there was a family gathering at the weekend and no access to the internet, so unfortunately I couldn't update! I hope you can forgive me for keeping you waiting! :O_**

**_Thank you all for reading! :) I really love you all, my dear reviewers! You are all my favourite people ever! :P_**


	15. Dreams

**15: It transpires one has been... sleep-talking**

Théoden had retired to his chamber after the feast which welcomed Gandalf and his companions to Edoras. He tired easily still, even now that he was rid of Wormtongue. He wandered around his chamber, aware for the first time in a long while of his surroundings – the soft rugs and furs, the tapestries sewn by his sisters, and many by Éowyn's skilled hand too.

He found his chest, full of his armour and weapons, and looked through it, holding each item carefully. He had felt good, when Háma had given him back his sword, Herugrim. Once more he felt like a King, worthy of leading his people. Just by holding these items of weaponry and armour, he could feel his strength returning.

His door opened softly, and he started and looked around to see who it was. Éomer.

'Éomer, my dear sister-son,' Théoden smiled at his nephew in greeting and reached a hand out.

Éomer gripped it and smiled in return at his uncle.

'It is good to have you back, Uncle,' he said solemnly. 'We have missed you this past while. My lady Éowyn is much pleased at your return.'

Théoden smiled, but he felt the shame well up in him, that he had been so misguided and tricked. He would not let it happen again.

'As am I, my dear Éomer. It is indeed good to be back with you once more.'

Théoden sat down in one opulently fur-lined chair, and Éomer moved to stand behind him.

'There were some things you said recently, uncle, about which I now wonder.'

'Oh?' replied Théoden. He hoped Éomer wouldn't bring up all the various royal documents Wormtongue had drawn up and he had signed without question, like a lamb led to the slaughter.

'It's probably not important…'

'Éomer, please carry on. I'm sure it is,' Théoden assured his nephew.

'Well, you see… It's simply that one time, you mumbled quite urgently that Háma was on the roof; but when I went to find him, as the roof is no place for one to be, he was not there. In fact as I was coming back to tell you that Háma wasn't there, I walked into him as he left the kitchen.'

'Indeed,' Théoden muttered. He didn't think Wormtongue had ever mentioned the roof…

'And there was another time you said something - to Éowyn, this was – and she _thinks_ you said that I'd gone fishing and caught an oliphaunt. But that can't be true; not only have I not gone fishing in years, but I didn't think the rivers in this country were large enough for oliphaunts…'

Théoden could hear the laughter in his nephew's voice; the slight tremble which betrayed the mirth he was trying to conceal.

Théoden shot a glare at Éomer.

'Did anyone else hear these... these comments?'

'Oh no. Only myself and Éowyn. And maybe Háma. And definitely Wormtongue. And possibly Léof your table server…'

'So, essentially, the whole of the staff of Meduseld?'

'Perhaps even the whole of Edoras,' Éomer confirmed with a wide grin.

Théoden sighed. He'd have to avoid eating cheese now; it always gave him vivid dreams…

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**_:) As usual, I hope you all enjoyed, and I'd greatly appreciate your comments!_**

**_This chapter is dedicated to all of you who review and make me happy. You deserve it :) In particular, Inverness Umbrella and DancingChestnut - your comments (both here and on my other fics) have been invaluable and I really do appreciate it. I love you all, O Lovely People of the Review Box :P_**

**_Anyway, I really hope you liked the chapter! I had to get Théoden and Éomer in here at least a little bit... :)_**


	16. Disguise

**16: The swordsman is beaten by someone... _unexpected_**

The sun was bright as it shone down on the Meduseld and the town of Edoras. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were wandering in the inner courtyard of the Golden Hall. The herb garden by the kitchens was perfuming the air with the smells of the herbs, some bitter, others mild and sweet, as the rays of sunshine warmed the flowers and leaves.

The courtyard was full of bustle as servants went about their jobs, rushing to and fro about the Hall, and officials carrying documents and royal seals hurried around on important business.

After so long spent only in each other's' company, the trio were almost a little lost now that they were surrounded by so many people. Accustomed to silence and only murmurs around a softly crackling campfire, the hustle and bustle of normal life seemed alien.

Aragorn kept his hand on his sword hilt. It was merely out of habit, but he felt better knowing it was there. Not that he thought any trouble would arise due to the people of Edoras, but being armed made him secure.

'Gimli,' he said. 'Will you spar with me?'

'Oh aye,' said Gimli enthusiastically. After so long without enemies to kill, Gimli was becoming restless, and this would be a chance to satisfy his battle-lust.

'I shall be judge, to make sure it's a clean fight. That applies to the _both_ of you, Gimli,' Legolas replied, shooting the Dwarf with a loaded glance, but a smirk was playing on his lips.

Gimli grunted in annoyance but he nodded his acquiescence.

The Ranger and the Dwarf squared up to each other, their respective weapons drawn and ready to fight. Legolas counted down and then the two were locked in combat.

Gimli was full of energy, and was a strong attacker, firing many blows at Aragorn with his huge battle-axe; but Aragorn was able for the most part to deflect them without too much trouble. This of course made Gimli even more determined to break Aragorn's defence, but Aragorn was too nimble and light on his feet, and Gimli had a hard time of it while his target leaped and dodged around in front of him.

Eventually Gimli could feel himself beginning to tire slightly; the lack of orcs rather making this whole exercise not particularly interesting, and with no adrenalin coursing through his veins he soon relaxed and held up his axe with a sigh.

'Alright, Aragorn. You can win… for now.'

Aragorn smiled at the Dwarf and tilted his head graciously in acknowledgement.

'Thank you, Gimli. That was a good session.'

Gimli gave a little harrumph but nodded in reply at Aragorn, then clapped him on the back.

Legolas was staring at something on the other side of the courtyard; his umpire duties forgotten as he observed whatever it was. He wore a slight frown. Concerned, the other two turned around to see what had intrigued their friend so much, and were surprised to see only a figure making its way towards them. It was a soldier, one of the Rohirrim, and his armour was particularly fine and looked new.

The soldier approached them, and bowed slightly to the three of them.

'My lords,' he said. The others nodded in return.

'I could not help but notice your sparring match,' the soldier addressed Gimli and Aragorn. 'If you would be willing, sir, I would like to pit my skill against yours,' he continued, looking at Aragorn at the last bit.

A little surprised, Aragorn accepted the challenge. It felt good to be wielding his sword again, and he wouldn't turn down an opportunity to practise. Even if it was just a friendly match in the courtyard.

The soldier and the Ranger stood firmly and turned to each other, and began to fight. The soldier was lightning fast, both with sword technique and dodging manoeuvres – he was lithe and quick as a fish, darting about so fast Aragorn was having trouble keeping up with him.

Aragorn was a master swordsman, and he found himself growing disconcerted as he failed to beat his opponent – not that he was competitive or anything… it was just rare to find someone as… well, as _good_ as him.

Troubled by the soldier's speed, he was unprepared for the quick rap on the leg the soldier gave with the flat edge of his sword, and Aragorn was swiftly felled. He lay on his back, winded, and stared up at his opponent.

Quickly he stood up, and brushed himself down.

'You are extremely skilled, sir. It was a good match,' he said graciously, not enjoying losing but being perfectly polite despite that fact. He held out his hand.

The soldier looked at it, and smiled.

'Indeed it was, my lord Aragorn. I am sure you will soon come round to the idea…'

Flummoxed, Aragorn looked at the soldier.

'The idea of what?' he asked in a bewildered manner.

'Oh, the idea that you were beaten by a girl,' the soldier said, and laughed. Now Aragorn thought about it, the voice _did_ have a distinctly feminine sound to it…

With that, the soldier turned around and began walking away. As they did so, they pulled off their helmet, revealing long tresses of golden hair reaching down the 'soldier's' back.

The trio stared after _her_, and Aragorn heard Gimli let out a chuckle, which soon turned into a full bellied laugh. When Aragorn looked at the others, he could see even Legolas was smirking.

'You knew the whole time, didn't you?' he demanded of the elf.

'Indeed. The lady Éowyn was watching you for a while, and when she challenged you… well, it is well known that the women in these parts are well practiced in sword play.'

Legolas' voice trembled slightly with mirth, while Gimli continued to roar at the fact Aragorn was beaten by a girl.

Aragorn didn't think he would be telling Arwen about it when he returned…

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**_A/N: I really hope you enjoyed! Much as I love Éowyn, I was a little disappointed by the film - they portrayed her as a little bit _too_ weepy, in my opinion. She always struck me as a bit more tough, not the sort to cry _quite_ as much as she did in the film! But either way she is awesome, and I wanted to pay tribute to her awesomeness. _**

**_Please review! You know I love it. :D Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all of you who have so far! You're all as awesome as Éowyn_. **


	17. Questions

_**A/N: Ok, this chapter is based on a line in the chapter 'The Palantír': Merry and Pippin have been reuinited with the others at Isengard and are leaving there and are on their way to Helm's Deep. Merry wants to find out all about Helm's Deep and the surrounding area, and when Gandalf says he's too busy, Merry replies: "All right, I'll tackle Strider by the campfire: he's less testy." I hope you enjoy... :D  
**_

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**17: You are constantly interrupted**

Merry had no idea of the land they were currently riding through, and after his rebuke from Gandalf he decided to ask Aragorn about it. After all, Aragorn was looking rather lonesome all by himself by the campfire; perhaps he needed cheering up.

Merry made his way over to where Aragorn sat, dodging around the tall men of Rohan who didn't seem to see him until they nearly knocked him over. When he was only a couple of metres of away from the edge of the campfire, someone did walk straight into him and Merry staggered; he felt a hand clutch his arm and pull him upright.

'Sorry,' he heard the tall man apologise as he walked away.

Brushing himself down, Merry turned to find Pippin standing next to him, grinning.

'Best watch yourself, Merry,' Pippin warned, still with the huge smile on his face.

'Thank you, Pip,' Merry smiled back at his younger cousin. 'I'm off to see Strider; Gandalf told me he'd tell me all about where we are.'

Pippin's grin instantly slid from his face.

'I'm not sure we should go bothering Strider, Merry.'

'Why not? He likes us; he'll be happy to help. More so than Gimli would be – you know what he gets like when he's tired and spent the whole day on a horse!'

'Well, that's where there might be a problem, Merry…'

Pippin was looking chagrined and a little embarrassed. Then Merry knew.

'What have you done, Peregrin?'

'Oh Merry, the journey was so _boring_ and Strider kept talking to the others about all these places I didn't know and so I asked him to explain, and he did, but Merry, he got a bit cross…'

'Why was he cross, Pippin?' Merry folded his arms.

'Because _someone_ kept interrupting me every time I took a breath; isn't that right, Master Pippin?'

A stern voice came from behind Pippin. The two hobbits looked up in surprise to find Strider standing there with a grave look on his face; they had forgotten that Rangers could move as silently as hobbits.

Abashed, Pippin looked down at the floor and scuffed at the grass with his toe.

Strider gave a smile. 'Worry not, young hobbits. Meriadoc, I will tell you all you wish to know, if you would care to come and join me by the fire.'

Merry and Pippin followed Strider to the fire and joined him on an upturned log he was using as a seat.

'Let's start with the basics first. As you know, we have left Isengard, and the land we are currently travelling over is called-'

'Ah, yes, I have a question about that,' Merry interrupted. 'Where _exactly_ are we going?'

Aragorn closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Wasn't it _nice_ to be reunited with these two; their good cheer, their jolly outlook, their _constant, incessant questions…!_

He laughed. Yes, it _was_ nice to have them back.

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_**A/N: Did you like it? I hope you did! I'd love to know what you think, so please review! :)**_

_**Just on a side note, I'd just like to take this opportunity to show you all how LotR-obsessed I am (as if writing fanfic isn't enough!): I'm having a LotR marathon tomorrow with my friends! We're going to watch all 3 of the Extended Editions - and seeing as each film is 3 hours long... well, it's going to be a long night! :P I'm so jealous though as two of my friends have never ever ever seen LotR before, so they're going to experience it all for the first time! To be honest I think I'm more excited about it than they are...**_

_**Anyay I really hope you enjoyed and Thank You to you all for reading and reviewing! I've got over 100 reviews for this story now - I'm still in shock! I just want to thank you all so very much :)  
**_


	18. Matches

**_A/N: For all you fans of Sam and Frodo… THEY'RE BACK! Yay! I got so happy when writing this chapter just because they were back. Oh, I love these two! (Actually saying that, I love hobbits in general. Can you tell?!)_**

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**18: Thank goodness Sam _did_ come along after all…**

They had reached the eastern shore of the River Anduin, and the Lothlórien boat was pulled up to the shore. Sam was quickly unpacking their packs from the boat while Frodo ascertained their course.

Frodo tentatively entered the sparsely wooded area, trying to see which direction would best get them to the Emyn Muil. Without realising it, he soon strayed out of Sam's view and earshot. Frodo continued to walk around the area, growing steadily more dispirited as he realised he was completely at a loss.

It was growing dark, and Frodo was thinking how nice it would be not to have to start on this leg of their journey; if only he could lie down and sleep… Then suddenly he remembered that even if they _could_ have a fire, they wouldn't be _able_ to.

_Stupid, silly hobbit_, he chastised himself. _You__'ve only gone and left the matches with the other packs over on the other side!_

Oh, this was a desperate situation. They couldn't go on without matches; who knew when they'd need a fire, and not just for cooking – many night terrors were kept away by a merrily crackling flame popping and spitting nearby, even if it was only a small one. But then, they couldn't cross back to the other side; the others would _definitely_ see them and wouldn't let Frodo out of their sight. He wouldn't get another chance to escape, and he knew they wouldn't be able to see that he had to go alone.

It was going to be hard as it was to get the two of them into Mordor; nine of them, four of them armed, would be nigh on impossible to get in secretly. And anyway, after the encounter with Boromir, he knew he couldn't take the Ring anywhere near the Gondorian.

Oh, how could he have been so stupid? What would Bilbo be thinking of him now? At the thought of his dear uncle, Frodo could feel tears welling up in his eyes. No, he mustn't think about home, or he really would lose all strength to carry on. And he _had_ to carry on.

He patted his pockets; nothing. Absolutely empty, except for an old leaf, once silvery and now dried to a reddish brown, which had once carried a wafer of _lembas_.

Hurriedly retracing his steps, accidentally taking a few wrong turnings, Frodo finally came back to where they'd left the boat. There was Sam, sorting the packs.

Frodo ran over to the bags, and began rifling through them hurriedly. They had to be here, they had to be…

'Mr Frodo, sir, what's wrong? What do you need?' Sam's voice was filled with concern.

'The matches, Sam! We left them! We can't go back, but we need the matches…' Frodo trailed off when he saw Sam looking at him, a slight smile playing on the younger hobbit's lips as he regarded his master with a twinkle in his eye.

'Oh Mr Frodo, there's naught for you to be worriting over! _I've_ got matches! You can always count on your Sam.'

'You… you've got the matches?' Frodo asked weakly.

'Aye, sir. So don't you go fretting.'

Frodo relaxed against the side of the boat. All that worry for nothing! He smiled gratefully at his young gardener. How could he have doubted him in the first place?

Thank goodness for Sam.

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**_A___****/**N: Ok, so it's not really awkward; the emphasis is on the 'silly Frodo, how could you have doubted Sam' thing. But either way…

**_I really hope you enjoyed it! I was so excited to have Sam and Frodo back on the scene! I've missed them :'( but now they're back! :D_**

**_Please review and leave your comments! I'd love to know what you think. :)_**


	19. Flies

**19:** **People make assumptions**

The day was warm as Sam rested in the cave, watching over Frodo to make sure no harm came to him. Sam was grateful for this moment of peace; Gollum had gone to find some food for them – Sam had taken full advantage of Gollum's new motto he had taken to muttering: "_always ready to help"._

Now that Gollum was gone, Sam could have slept, but in truth he was far too hungry. His stomach was growling and at times he was afraid it would wake poor Mr Frodo up, it was so loud. Sam would be glad when Gollum came back and he could start cooking them up some food, a good homely meal. It had been far too long since they'd had one of them!

Sam was dozing, drifting on the surface of sleep but not quite sleeping into it yet. As the day wore on, it grew steadily hotter and Sam could smell all the flowers and herbs begin to perfume the air outside their little rock shelf as the sun hit the leaves and petals. Apart from the fact there were many herbs Sam had never heard of let alone seen, it reminded him of home.

'If only the gaffer could see me now,' he thought. He wondered what the gaffer would think. Reminiscing about home brought to mind his sisters' wonderful food, and of course that just made him even hungrier. He hoped Gollum would return soon…

Suddenly he heard something that was not his stomach.

Instantly on the alert, Sam sat up and looked around for the source of the noise. There didn't appear to be anything there. Unsettled, Sam sat back against the wall, but didn't close his eyes. He had to keep Frodo safe, and if there was anything there… well, he'd know about it before it could hurt his master.

There it was again!

Now that Sam was fully awake, he realised that the noise, whatever it was, didn't sound remotely like a grumbling stomach. It sounded like… yes, there it was; a fly. It was buzzing around everywhere making a low droning noise that grated on Sam's nerves. He'd always hated flies; thank goodness for spiders, he thought – not that he liked spiders, either.

The fly obviously found something attractive about Frodo, as it settled first on his shirt and then, once Sam shooed it away, settled on Frodo's hair. Sam was exasperated; he could try and protect Frodo from many things, but a fly? How does one get rid of a fly that doesn't stay still long enough for one to swat it?

When it landed once more on Frodo's hair, Sam lost it. It would have to go.

He reached his hand out to quickly swat the fly, but as he did so – he could kick himself afterwards – all he succeeded in doing was hitting Frodo's head. Immediately Sam was mumbling apologies to his sleeping master, soothing the area where his hand had caught Frodo's scalp, hoping his master wasn't too badly hurt.

Then Frodo's eyes flew open.

Sam froze in position, hands hovering above Frodo's head of soft curls.

'Sam?' Frodo asked dazedly, his voice thick with sleep.

'Yes, Mr Frodo?' Sam replied sheepishly.

'Sam, why are stroking my hair?'

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**_A/N: Aw I've missed these two so much! This is probably my favourite chapter! Well, I can't decide which is my favourite, but this is one of them. I really, really hope you all enjoyed too! :D_**

**_Please review and let me know what you think :)_**


	20. Guests

**20: You aren't a very good guest**

Sam and Frodo were grateful to the Men of Ithilien who had brought them back to their hide-out and were now offering them a good, hearty meal. Perhaps the fare was not elaborate but it was warming and nourishing, and better than _lembas_ any day.

They settled themselves on top of the raised barrels the Men had set out for them, higher than the benches the other men sat upon, so that they could reach the table. They could feel many of the other soldiers' stares on them as they sat; no doubt they were the first hobbits these men had ever seen. Frodo and Sam were given the place of honour, next to Faramir.

Faramir led the men in looking to the West before starting the meal, and when Frodo questioned him about it, talk turned to the customs and traditions of Gondor and the Shire. The men were particularly amused at the way hobbits give out presents on their birthdays; in Gondor, apparently, it was he one whose birthday it was who _received_ the presents! Sam and Frodo exchanged a quick look at that – surely it was a little backwards? That way you only received presents once a year. In the Shire you got presents on as many days as you had family members and friends…

The conversation continued, until Frodo began to describe the beauty of the Shire and the wonderful gardens, and nudged Sam to indicate he should tell their hosts all about his gardening work.

Unfortunately for the both of them, Sam had at that point been refilling his wine glass and at Frodo's elbowing, which jogged his arm, the wine decanter flew out of Sam's hand and dropped against the table, smashing and spilling wine everywhere.

Sam stared in horror at what he'd done, and Frodo looked guiltily at the scene before him.

No one spoke, except Sam who immediately began mopping up the mess and mumbling desperate apologies. Faramir did not say anything, but stared down at his plate – where his food was now swimming in wine.

Sam further kicked himself for his carelessness – how could he have gone and spilt wine on Faramir's food? The captain of Gondor? Their host? He'd have been embarrassed to have spilt wine on even Ted Sandyman's meal, if Ted Sandyman happened to be his host – which, Sam fervently hoped, would never occur.

Caught up in his cleaning, Sam didn't catch the small smile playing on Faramir's lips. Judging from the concerned whispers from the other end of the table, Sam assumed he was in big trouble; that the men would throw them out, or maybe even have them killed, or… oh, it was just too bad!

'Master Samwise,' Sam heard his name called. Tentatively, he looked up at Faramir, but didn't quite meet the man's eye.

'Yes, sir?' he whispered. He could see the man's lips twitching at the corners.

'I thank you. You have just improved my dinner! When young Frodo said you had a talent for cooking I believed him, but now I have the proof before me! Never before has my stew tasted so… rich,' Faramir said, and at Sam's confused expression, laughed and patted him on the back.

'Don't worry, Samwise! We'll forget about it. Now, Frodo says you're a gardener? Mm, the wine really _did_ improve the stew…'

* * *

_**A/N: That's Two Towers done! Only Return of the King left! :O**_

_**I hope you enjoyed this! It was actually based on a real life story.. I admit it; once my Aunty came for dinner and I did accidentally knock a drink into her dinner – and to add insult to the injury it was her drink, so not only did she eat funny-tasting food but she also didn't even have a drink! :/ she actually really enjoyed the, ah, 'improved' version, but the family have never let me forget the incident. *sigh*.**_

_**Anyway please review! I'd love to know what you think! Which was your favourite from the Two Towers collection? I'd love to know! :D **_

_**Thank you so much to ALL OF YOU for reading and reviewing; it makes me so happy! :D First chapter for RotK is on its way! (Unfortunately there may be a bit of a delay, but I don't think it'll be too long.)  
**_


	21. Majesty

_**The Awkward Moment When…**_

**21: It's hard retaining one's majesty**

Pippin strolled through the streets of Minas Tirith, searching out Bergil, Beregond's son. The kindly soldier had to attend to his duties, but Pippin did not feel like staying cooped up in his and Gandalf's suite if the wizard was not there. Pippin wasn't entirely sure where he'd find this Bergil lad, but he couldn't be too far. And it gave him the opportunity of seeing a little more of the city of which he was now a guard.

While there was _much_ less greenery in the city than there was in the Shire, and the presiding colours were mostly white and grey, Pippin couldn't deny that there was certainly a beauty, a grandeur to the city that gave it an atmosphere of greatness.

As Pippin walked through the streets, he received many strange looks – probably most people assumed he was a child, run off from his parents and desperately lost. Pippin sighed. His small stature really made it difficult to be taken seriously sometimes, judging by some of the smirks he saw on the faces of some of the citizens.

But then he realised that not all the whispers that circulated around him were bad – many people sounded excited at his approach, and called out to each other in raised voices.

Pippin was growing slightly bemused by the attention he was receiving, and then he heard what it was most of the people were shouting.

"_Ernil i Pheriannath! Ernil i Pheriannath!"_

The cries echoed off the stone walls, rebounding off the grey towers and creating the illusion that there was a huge crowd of people joining in the cry. Pippin grew even more concerned, until he realised that what they were saying, in a tongue other than that of the Common Speech, was "_Prince of the Halflings."_

_Prince of the Halflings._

He could get used to this. All this 'prince' business. In fact he was rather enjoying it now; he couldn't wait to tell Merry! How _jealous_ Merry would be about this!

Pippin continued on his way amidst the cries heralding his arrival, and unconsciously his gait changed. He walked a little taller, his back straight, and a slight strut to his step. He nodded graciously and smiled at the citizens, who regarded him with a mixture of wonder and amazement.

This was the life, Pippin mused. The people were creating a walking procession, as some of them followed him on his way into the centre of town. Pippin revelled in his new found fame; if only he were this popular back in the Shire! Oh, Merry would be so, _so_ jealous when he told him about this!

Unfortunately for Pippin, the city was not in its best condition and there were various blocks of crumbling masonry littering the roads which could trip an unwary traveller.

What was even more unfortunate for Pippin was the act that he was so caught up in his new-found fame that unwary is exactly what he was.

As he continued with his majestic stride, his foot caught on one large boulder of stone and, shocked by the sudden impact, he fell to his knees and only just managed to save himself from falling face-first by sticking his hands out, and scratching his palms on the rough cobblestones in the process.

The whole street had gone quiet, as the 'Prince' fell over and lay on the ground, gasping as the pain set in after the shock wore off.

Thankfully for Pippin he really wasn't badly hurt at all; his slightly grazed palms had suffered the worst, and it was mostly his wounded pride which hurt.

Quickly Pippin scrambled to his feet, wiping his hands on his breeches, and gave a laugh, as if to show how unconcerned he was about the whole debacle. Conversation resumed at that, as many of the people laughed with him, and soon Pippin was underway again.

Thankfully no one seemed to think any less of him, and he arrived in the town centre still with a following of a score of Men.

As the grazes on his palms throbbed dully, Pippin thought that perhaps he _wouldn't_ tell Merry about this. What Merry didn't know couldn't hurt him, after all…

* * *

_**A/N: Well, I'm back! :D  
**_

_**It's the first chapter in the new set of Return of the King! I really hope you enjoyed! :D Silly Pippin. What goes around comes around, as they say. I guess he shouldn't have thought about showing off to Merry! :P**_

_**I'm using the book as my guide, so I apologise if this doesn't really make much sense to those of you who have only seen the films. Basically Pippin gets shown round by a nice soldier called Beregond and then when Beregond has to go on duty Pippin walks through the town to go and find his son, and then it's all really sweet because they get along really well and it's cute and just **__**aw****. I do love Pippin really.**_

_**Please review! I'd love to know what you thought :)**_


	22. Injury

**22:Your horse is accident-prone  
**

Éomer rode his horse Firefoot through the winding stairs and streets of Helm's Deep as he went to discuss the military arrangements with the advisor. The streets were busy and packed with citizens of Rohan, and more than once Éomer regretted slightly his choice to travel on horseback, as it made it rather difficult to navigate the narrow streets; but the refuge was big and it was definitely much faster this way.

He just had to make sure he watched out for any citizens who might stray into his path.

This, however, was much easier said than done, and as he directed Firefoot up a particularly steep set of stone stairs, one young boy jumped sharply out of the way and slipped, falling partway down the flight of stairs. He lay, dazed, and Éomer instantly jumped down out of the saddle and ran to the boy's side.

'Young man, I am so very sorry!' Éomer knelt by the lad and apologised while quickly assessing the damage. The boy gave a mumbled reply, but Éomer couldn't make out what he said.

Éomer mentally kicked himself; how could he have been so careless? His uncle would never forgive him if he didn't at least do something to help the poor boy, and in truth Éomer couldn't just leave him there.

Making his decision, Éomer quickly scooped the boy up and placed him carefully upon Firefoot's back.

'I will take you to the hospital wing,' he informed the lad, who tried to speak before Éomer cut him off.

'No, my dear boy, I insist upon at least making sure you are not injured, and the healers will be able to help best.'

'But-' the boy protested, but Éomer would have none of it.

'You are hurt by my hand and I would see you treated,' he insisted, and with that began leading Firefoot towards the area of Helm's Deep where the healers were located.

Along the way the boy constantly tried to protest, but Éomer assumed the lad was simply embarrassed at having to be carried to the hospital wing. Éomer kept repeating his assurances and apologising profusely; he really felt awful at having caused harm to the boy.

Eventually they reached the hospital wing without any more accidents or mishaps, and Éomer picked the boy off the horse and took him inside, where he was swiftly directed to a bed. Once he had been laid down, the boy was instantly trying to get up again.

'My lord Éomer, sir, please- I'm not hurt, sir, really – I'm perfectly fine-'

'Please, young man, do not make a fuss; it really is no trouble.'

'No, my lord Éomer, I really am _fine_. Look!' the boy swiftly jumped up off the bed and bowed to Éomer, who stared at the lad for a while.

'You're – not hurt?'

'Only a couple of bruises, sir, I should think, and naught more serious than that!'

'Oh. Well, then... I apologise for having inconvenienced you, young man. I honestly thought you were injured!'

The boy laughed it off, and as a token of apology Éomer let him ride Firefoot back to the boy's lodgings, where his mother was beginning to worry as to where her son had got to, and Éomer had to explain to her the whole story. She didn't look entirely pleased about that, and Éomer felt his cheeks flame up at her disbelief.

That made Éomer feel even more of a fool! Never before had a horse ride been so… _embarrassing_ for all concerned. Next time, he would walk – it _really_ wasn't worth the embarrassment.

* * *

_**A/N: Quite a short one, but I hope you enjoyed! Poor chivalrous Éomer! (More horse accidents coming up in the next chapter, too, by the way! :P)**_

_**Please review and let me know what you thought :)**_


	23. Trees

**23:You are accident prone - and on a horse...  
**

Gimli clutched at Legolas lightly as they made their way to Edoras. While he had got used to the unsteady movements of the horse, he still didn't feel completely secure as he sat perched behind the elf; and for that reason he still held on to Legolas.

The most part of their journey had been over wild plains, sparsely vegetated and flat land, but they were approaching a pass between two hills which required they take the very narrow road uphill which would eventually lead them out on the other side.

Carefully, Aragorn, Legolas with Gimli, the many Dúnedain and Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond's sons**, **who had all come and joined their company, were each manoeuvring their horses into single file, in order to fit through the cramped and narrow pass. Legolas and Gimli were at the rear of the procession of riders.

It was a tight fit, and the horses had to slow down a little due to the overhanging branches and vines which were wont to spring back into the face of the rider as the horse pushed them aside.

Gimli was having a particularly bad time of it, as many of the bushes and branches hanging down were bare, with sharp little twigs which got easily caught in his beard and pulled at it, causing him not a little discomfort. He was particularly put out when the twigs broke off and remained in his beard, like a burr in a dog's fur, and he knew he would have to spend at least an hour once they reached Edoras, carefully combing them out and re-plaiting his beard.

They had reached a particularly steep part of the pass, and more than once Gimli heard little utterances of annoyance as the riders pushed the branches out of the way. Gimli and Legolas' horse had fallen behind somewhat, and so Legolas quickly spurred his horse on, to close the gap that had widened between the last Dúnedan before them and their own horse.

Their horse sped forward. Fortunately for the horse, being of the height it was, it missed the huge branch that stuck out from the side of the steep walls.

Fortunately for Legolas, being an elf, he had quick reflexes and was able to duck.

Unfortunately for Gimli, not expecting the branch and also being a dwarf and therefore not having particularly sharp reflexes (especially when most of his concentration was being put into not falling off), he did not see it until it was too late. He only noted its presence when it had slammed right into his chest, knocking him backwards – off the horse.

He was thrown onto the hard ground, and, winded, could only watch as Legolas continued to ride on. Great was his relief indeed when the elf brought the horse to a stop and turned to see where Gimli had got to.

When he saw his friend lying on the ground he called out to the rest of the company to stop, and swiftly dismounting, he ran to Gimli and helped him up.

'Silly dwarf,' Legolas said, but he smiled affectionately at Gimli as he handed him back his axe, which had fallen off when he slipped from the horse.

Snatching his axe from the elf and scowling at the little smirk on Legolas' face, Gimli gave a little harrumph as he stomped back to the horse.

_Silly dwarf, indeed,_ he thought. _Anyone_ could have been hit by the branch…

* * *

**A/N:I hope you enjoyed! Poor Gimli. He really is very unfortunate! :P**

**Please review, and let me know what you think! :)**


	24. Twins

**24: Identical twins make for difficult dinner guests**

Éowyn ran out to the courtyard as soon as she heard the look outs announce the visitors, to watch their arrival and greet them as they rode in. the wind whipped about her, but her attention was all on the group of riders approaching – she had been expecting Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli; but who were the group of men in dun clothing and heavily armed, and the two others who were taller and looked remarkably similar?

Intrigued, she stood as they rode with a clatter into the courtyard, a large group of men on huge horses and with many weapons. Some carried swords, others bows; but all looked ready for a battle. They reminded her slightly of Aragorn.

Soon they were all dismounted and she approached them, smiling in welcome.

'My lord Aragorn,' she said warmly, as he took her hand and kissed it. She bade the trio she knew welcome, and then looked at Aragorn expectantly, waiting for him to begin the introductions.

'My lady, this is Halbarad and a company of Dúnedain from the North. And these-' he gestured at the two taller, dark-haired men '-are Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.'

Aha. Elves!

Now she could see them up close, Elladan and Elrohir looked disconcertingly similar – in fact she would go so far as to say that they were identical. She couldn't see a feature that they didn't have in common – both had long faces and finely chiselled features which, as with all their race, were unearthly in their beauty; they both shared the same long, dark hair, and were dressed in identical raiment. They didn't even have any freckles or other markings by which she might have been able to determine who was who.

Inwardly, her stomach sank. How was she going to be able to remember which one was which? With a curtsey she greeted them, and then motioned to the guests to follow her into Meduseld.

One of them appeared next to her, and offered her his arm. Gratefully she took it.

'Thank you, my lord El… Elro…? Ellad…?' when he smiled she took this for confirmation. 'Elladan?' she asked.

Slightly, he shook his head.

'I am Elrohir,' he smiled.

'Oh, I am so very sorry! I didn't mean to cause offense-'

'And none was taken, dear lady,' the elf laughed in a voice like crystal, clear and musical.

She smiled, and they continued in. there was a meal set for them in the dining hall, and she led them to the great table where they all settled themselves down and began to eat.

At one point over the course of the meal, one of the Elvish lords requested that the salt be passed down, and obligingly she passed it down the table.

'Of course, my lord Elrohir,' she murmured graciously.

She tensed. Had she said the right name? She honestly couldn't tell if it was the same elf who had escorted her inside earlier…

'My lady, I am Elladan,' came his soft spoken voice.

She visibly cringed, and began apologising profusely.

Then Legolas spoke up.

'My lady Éowyn, there is one way to tell them apart,' Legolas' voice came from nearby, clear and melodic, but she could hear the smile in his words.

'Really? What is it?' she looked at him desperately. She could see the twins smirking and throwing mock-despairing glances at Legolas.

'Ah Legolas, you would spoil our fun! Are the elves of Mirkwood grown so boring that they would reveal our secrets?' one of them laughed.

'Alas, yes, my dear Elrohir, when it causes discomfort to one such as the Lady Éowyn!'

Gratefully she looked at Legolas.

'So what is their secret way of distinguishing between them?'

He looked at her gravely.

'Their hair, my lady.'

She looked back at the twins. Their hair, dark as coal on a moonless night, was so dark that it was impossible to really tell how their hair was styled. But now she looked closely, she could see that yes, there were slight darker patches that told of plaits…

Helpfully they both turned, and the candlelight threw their hair into relief. She could see that Elladan had his woven into two plaits close to his head which met at the base of his skull, close to the neck. Elrohir's was plaited across the back of his head to join into one at his crown. The styles were so similar, though, Éowyn didn't feel bad at not having noticed – she hadn't even been afforded a look at their backs until now!

'Aha!' she gasped. 'In that case, please would you kindly pass down the bread, lord Elladan?'

That certainly took a weight off her shoulders. At least there would be no more situations of incorrect name calling!

'Of course dear lady,' he replied. 'But 'tis not I who has the bread! Perhaps you meant my brother.'

Éowyn sighed. Yes; it _was_ Elrohir who had the bread. Would she _ever_ get this right?

* * *

_**A/N: Ah dear. Poor Éowyn! I'm absolutely terrible with faces, and I can never distinguish between twins, so imagine what **_**elf _twins would be like?! _**

**_Please review! :D I'd love to know what you thought :)_**


	25. Clothes

_**A/N: So this is the last 'On the Quest' Awkward Moment. The rest will all be set after the War of the Ring. I hope you like this one! :D**_

* * *

**25: Your attire isn't perhaps the best suited to your location**

Éowyn quickly left Théoden's tent where her uncle, Éomer, Meriadoc and various guards were gathered, eating a meal together before departing to muster more troops. She couldn't stand it in there; the silence was oppressive and tense, and the only conversation had been when Merry had asked about the Paths of the Dead. Éowyn didn't want to hear about those dread roads, not when her uncle and brother were so close to leaving for war. No, she had excused herself from the table and left the tent to 'get a breath of fresh air'.

She stood outside. The tent was situated on the crest of the hill, and before her she could see spread the many smaller tents and campfires of the soldiers of Rohan. She desperately wanted to accompany them to war, but her uncle was adamant that she should remain behind. _Unless_…

A loud flap from behind her made her turn around. Merry had pushed open the tent flap, creating a rectangle of light from inside the tent which was thrown onto the grass, bathing Éowyn in its glow, until Merry let the flap fall shut and they were cocooned in the soft darkness of the night once more.

Merry came and stood next to her. He appeared a little pale and looked quite tense – his usual cheerful grin and demeanour were gone, and he stared straight ahead, looking out over the plains of Rohan. He gave her a small smile, and she returned it.

The wind was strong up here on the top of the hill, and her hair was flying about her face and more than once whipped her cheeks, so she pulled it back into a loose knot. She looked at the hobbit before her, still wan and tense.

'Master Merry, I see you too had to leave,' she said.

'Yes, my lady Éowyn. I… the Paths of the Dead sound ominous, and I fear greatly for my friends who have taken that road.'

Of course. He was scared for Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, who had gone in that direction even after that… _eventful_ dinner, despite Éowyn's best efforts to dissuade them. They had spent much time together and they had become close; of course he would fear for them. And of course he missed his young cousin, Pippin.

She squeezed his shoulder gently.

'I am sure they will be fine, Merry. They are trained warriors, and Aragorn knows what he is doing,' she consoled. He smiled weakly at her, but his shoulders relaxed a little at her words.

The two resumed their gazing out over the scene before them. A particularly strong gust of wind blew suddenly, and it did more than pull Éowyn's hair out of its loose knot.

She was unprepared for a gust this strong, and while her hands were busy stopping her hair from flying into her face, her skirt was blown upwards and the heavy material hit poor Merry in the face, and he immediately spluttered as he pushed away the skirt.

Flushing pink furiously, Éowyn smoothed her skirt back down as the wind died. Oh, this was even worse than mixing up the twins at dinner! At least it was only Merry, who was laughing at this predicament, and not some sour-faced boring old guard who would have been shocked at the exposure of her leg in that brief moment.

'Oh, Merry, I am so sorry!' she cried. She was sure she was bright red by now. _This_ was why she preferred wearing her armour – one couldn't have an accident such as this when one was in chain mail shirts and breeches!

Merry just laughed.

'My lady Éowyn, _I_ am sorry! It was very un-gentlemanly of me not to offer my assistance, but I assumed that in a matter such as _this_ you would prefer to sort it yourself!'

Smiling at him gratefully, Éowyn nodded in agreement. The blush in her cheeks was dying down.

With a smirk, Merry continued.

'Although I must say, that is a very fine pair of, ah, _shoes_ you are sporting. Very fetching indeed.'

She looked at him sharply, but he only shot a large, innocent grin at her, and slipped back inside the tent. It was a good thing she was _fond_ of the little chap; but still, a lady had to protect her honour... She chuckled as she followed him back inside, various possible methods of getting him back running through her mind.

* * *

**_A/N: Naughty Merry! Éowyn will find a way to get him back, don't worry! :P_**

**_I hope you enjoyed, and please review! Thank you all SO MUCH, those of you who do! I honestly can't express how much I appreciate it. :)_**


	26. Surprise

_**A/N: Alrighty, it's the first of the post-Quest chapters! It's related to the chapter 'Dating', so you might wish to re-read that one quickly just to refresh your memory of it! **_

_**Enjoy…**_

* * *

**26: You're the last to find out **

Pippin stood in between Sam and Merry as he watched Frodo carry the crown of Gondor to Gandalf, who then placed it upon Aragorn's head, proclaiming him king.

'Never thought I'd see the day when _Strider_ became _King_!' Pippin laughed under his breath. He received two elbows in his ribs simultaneously as both Merry and Sam told him to be quiet.

'Ow!' Pippin squeaked. 'Alright. I'll be quiet…'

Pippin's silence lasted for approximately two minutes, until Aragorn began to sing an ancient song, first sung by Elendil when he first arrived on the shores of Middle-earth.

'Strider can _sing_?' Pippin gasped. 'I didn't know that!'

Merry and Sam shot him death glares, and Pippin shrunk back, shutting up once more.

'I'm sorry! But no one ever tells me things…' Pippin muttered, so quietly that the other two didn't hear him.

When Aragorn stood proudly, tall and graceful as the kings of old, Pippin clapped as loudly as the rest of the city. Until something caught his attention.

'Merry, Sam, look! There's the elves! Don't they all look beautiful. Oh, and would you look at that, there's Lord Elrond and the Lady Arwen. Hey, she's staring at Aragorn again! Too bad for her, he'll have _tons_ of noble ladies hounding him now…!' Pippin kept up a running commentary, and Sam and Merry sighed at the inane babble coming out of Pippin's mouth. But they both looked at him at the last bit.

'Pip, no-' Merry began.

'Oh my, Merry, look! Aragorn is heading towards Arwen! Look! He's going to tell her, I just know it…' Pippin interrupted, desperately pointing towards the new King and the beautiful elf.

'Pippin, really-' Merry sounded quite exasperated, but Pippin took no notice.

'Wait for it, wait for it... _What_?'

Pippin's previously excited voice was now full of surprise.

Sam and Merry looked up, to see Aragorn pulling Arwen into an embrace and kissing her passionately. Pippin stared in utter confusion.

'But, Merry…' Pippin was in shock.

Merry laughed at the look on his young cousin's face.

'I was trying to tell you, Pip! But you didn't listen!'

'You knew?' Pippin rounded on Merry.

'Of course I knew! Samwise here knew too. So did old Frodo. It's just you who didn't!' Merry couldn't stop laughing. Oh poor dear unobservant Pippin.

'Sam? You knew too?' Pippin turned to Sam and asked in a small voice.

'Um, yes, Mr Pippin sir. Overheard him talking with Gandalf one night, I did, but didn't think as it was my place to say anything,' Sam said uncomfortably.

'But… Merry, how did _you_ find out?'

'Saw them! As we were leaving Rivendell, after you were all so rude to me, _Peregrin_, I saw them look at each other. You should have seen the way he was looking at her, Pip. There was absolutely no doubt, after that!' Merry had managed to stop laughing now, but it was a close thing; the look on Pippin's face was so forlorn that it wouldn't take very much for Merry to begin again.

'And Frodo knows…. How?

'I'm not sure exactly, but I think he heard it from Strider himself,' Sam said.

Pippin crossed his arms.

'And you didn't tell me because you think I'm too young, don't you? You thought I'd say something silly? Well, I'm not and I won't!'

Pippin turned back to where the King stood, his lovely elven partner by his side.

'I'm going to go and have a word with Strider…'

With that, Pippin wriggled into the crowd and Merry and Sam were too late to stop him.

'Oops,' Merry muttered.

San shuffled his feet. 'Well, it wasn't rightly _us_ as told him, Mr Merry. Strider did just _show_ everyone, anyhow…'

With that, the two followed Pippin, to stop him confronting Strider and upsetting the show. At this rate, perhaps it would have been better if they _had_ told him beforehand…

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Silly Pippin! :D Please review and let let me know what you thought :) **_

_**Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing so far, your support has been incredible! I really do hope you liked this chapter :)**_


	27. Drinks

_**A/N: Just a quick note – this chapter refers to the chapter 'Eating Habits'. It might be wise to just quickly reread that (particularly the ending) before you read this one! :P**_

* * *

**27: Please no, not the hobbits…**

It was the feast celebrating the coronation of King Elessar, and everyone was making the most of this time of merry-making by drinking and eating as much as they possibly could – particularly the hobbits. Merry and Pippin alone had cleared three of the huge Man-sized platters within the first ten minutes of the feast, and Sam and Frodo were steadily munching their way through the delicious courses at a rate that no other member of the other races could match.

Legolas and Gimli stood with the four hobbits, marvelling at the speed at which they were eating, Gimli with a large ale tankard in his hand.

Gandalf joined them for a moment – he had been proving to Aragorn that wizards _can_ dance, which of course the hobbits knew already, as Gandalf had attended many a Shire party – and grabbing a plate of food, said thoughtfully, 'You remember when you all first met and were shocked at how much these fellows eat? I see you've grown used to it! Do you remember what else I said? Maybe you should try it!'

And with a wink, Gandalf was off again. The others looked at each other in confusion. What _had_ he said? The hobbits even stopped eating for a moment while they pondered what Gandalf meant.

Then suddenly Gimli gave a great laugh. 'I remember! He said you lads would be good in a drinking competition!'

The hobbits all stilled again, and looked at Gimli curiously. Legolas looked unsure.

'You are a little small…' he began uncertainly.

The hobbits all shared a look, and as one a grin spread across their faces. Gimli's confident smile faltered a little.

Merry piped up, 'I'm in!' Pippin seconded that, and Frodo and Sam joined too.

Seeing them all preparing for drink war, Aragorn came over. When he heard their plan, he offered to be judge, and the others took him up on this offer gladly. Within a short amount of time, none of them would be fit to umpire.

They all sat with mugs and mugs of ale in front of them, ready to begin. When Aragorn gave the signal, they all began to drink as one, downing the mugs in seconds. Gimli was good, as Aragorn expected; Legolas was surprisingly good, for an elf – during Aragorn's childhood in Rivendell the only drinking had been refined sipping at meals; and the hobbits – well, somehow Aragorn wasn't really surprised to see them drinking at _least_ as fast as Gimli!

For creatures of their small stature, Aragorn was quite amazed at how much they managed to consume in that small amount of time. Frodo dropped out first, stumbling to the privy; Samwise followed him not long after, looking a little green. Merry and Pippin were keeping up with the other two, though, until Pippin fell asleep, falling head-first onto the table with his eyes closed, making little sleepy sounds as he made himself comfortable on the table. Aragorn stifled his laughter – was that because of the drink, or had Pippin just had a very long day?

Merry followed suit after a few more drinks, with a very satisfied smile playing on his lips even in his sleep.

'What did we say! The fellers are too small!' Gimli roared, banging his mug on the table. When Legolas didn't respond and just continued drinking, Gimli grumbled and set to with renewed vigour.

After what seemed like too many pints to count, Gimli fell asleep, and Legolas looked at the dwarf with a laugh.

'I guess I win then,' he said, covering his mouth daintily as he emitted a little burp.

'Yes,' Aragorn agreed, and helped Legolas to the privy. The elf was a little unsteady on his feet.

And so Legolas came to win the drinking competition, which the hobbits didn't mind at all, because they didn't _really_ want to win it in the first place…

* * *

The next morning, Legolas came to consciousness but didn't open his eyes. He felt woozy and his head hurt as if it had been hit with Sam' frying pan countless times. Only now did he appreciate how effective a weapon it made; he even felt pity for the orcs Sam had unleashed it upon.

He could hear Gimli groaning next to him, no doubt in the same condition as he was.

He opened his eyes slowly, then almost (_almost_) yelped in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

Merry was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at him with a huge grin on his face.

'Good morning, master Legolas. It's a beautiful morning here in Minas Tirith, and it's not yet eight of the clock!' Merry said in an incredibly loud, sing-song voice. 'Open the curtains, Sam!'

'No, don't-' Legolas began, but his eyes were assaulted by a white glaring light as the curtains were cruelly ripped open. He shielded his eyes from the blaze, but the sudden motion set his stomach churning.

From the shriek next to him, he assumed Gimli had woken up, no doubt to find Pippin grinning at him.

Legolas covered his face with the pillow.

'What do you want?' he muttered to the hobbits. He could hear Gimli throwing dwarvish curses at them under his breath.

Merry spoke for them.

'We really had a _great_ time last night. That drinking game was so fun, wasn't it, Pip? Even Frodo enjoyed himself, and he drinks the least out of all of us!'

Legolas heard Frodo's cheery confirmation of this fact, and Sam's chuckle.

'And so we were wondering...'

Pippin cut in in an incredibly loud and high-pitched voice which made Legolas' skull feel as if it had been cracked like a nut.

'_Do you want to play again?!'_

Legolas groaned. He didn't want to see another drop of ale or wine for at least a century. Never had he had such a bad hangover! Blast that wizard.

Now he understood why hobbits were so good at drinking! When he managed to open his eyes again, he looked at Gimli, and the same thought was on both their minds.

_Never challenge a hobbit to a drinking game again. Ever. _

* * *

_**A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was fun to write! Oh those cruel hobbits, teasing Legolas and Gimli like that! How could they?! :D**_

_**Please review! I'd love to know what you think :)**_


	28. Revenge

_**A/N: Ok, a few of you have said you wanted to read about Éowyn's plot to get her own back on Merry (end of 'Clothes'), so here it is! I hope you enjoy! :)**_

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**28: The hobbit should never have messed with you**

After the vibrant festivities of the night before, the city of Minas Tirith was eerily quiet as Éowyn made her way to the royal stables to look after her horse, Windfola. He had had a bad time during the battle, so she was making sure to lavish him with plenty of love and carrots.

As she walked, she heard the little group of hobbits making their way from their chamber, but she didn't know where they were headed. Merry's voice rang out clearly, and she listened in interest to what he was saying.

'Frodo, you believe me, don't you?'

'What's that, Merry?'

'Pippin doesn't believe me that I can ride my horse really well. He thinks I'm making it up! Well, after we've seen Legolas and Gimli, Pippin and I are going straight to the stables so I can show him! I've already asked them to have my horse saddled and ready!'

There was a distinct note of glee in Merry's voice at the thought of getting one over his cousin, and Éowyn suddenly had an idea. She had been thinking about how she could get her own back on Merry ever since the incident, and now she had the perfect opportunity!

Merry would hate to be wrong in front of his younger cousin, so if Éowyn just made sure that he _was_… oh, Merry would be cross!

With a smile of anticipation, Éowyn continued on her silent way to the stables.

* * *

Merry and Pippin raced down towards the stables, Merry eagerly thinking about the look on Pip's face when he saw how skilled Merry was on horseback! He was going to be so jealous!

They reached the stables, the smell of horse and hay assaulting their nostrils as they entered the warm shed. Merry led Pippin over to his pony.

'Isn't she wonderful?'

'Mm,' Pippin responded in a half-hearted way. 'But I still want to see you ride.'

'I'm getting there, Pip!' Merry looked at his cousin crossly. 'Don't be hasty.'

Pippin stuck his tongue out, but Merry was too busy opening the stall and checking on his horse to notice what his wayward cousin was up to. As requested, his horse was saddled up and ready for him to ride. He led her gently out of the stall, cooing softly at her. He took her outside where there was space to ride, and led her to the mounting block – an extra tall one to make up for his smaller stature.

'Right, Pippin, watch this!' he called.

Pippin watched with interest as Merry gripped the saddle and began to pull himself up – and then come tumbling down, saddle and all, landing with a thump on the mounting block.

He ran to his cousin.

'Merry! Are you alright?'

Merry was up and dusting himself off crossly.

'The saddle wasn't attached!' he muttered to himself.

A voice sounded from behind them. 'A good rider always checks the equipment before he starts,' it said. It was a distinctly feminine voice and it was trembling with mirth. Merry recognised that voice.

'My Lady Éowyn, how nice to see you,' he said. Of course! Why else would she be here just in time to see him fall, if it wasn't because she'd sabotaged his plans?

'And Merry says he can ride! He can't even get _on_ the horse, let alone _ride_ it!' Pippin crowed. He was laughing so hard at his cousin, now he was sure he wasn't hurt, that tears were leaking out from the corners of his eyes.

'Shush, Pip,' Merry hissed, annoyed at the turn events had taken.

Éowyn stretched an arm out to Merry and helped him up.

'Don't you look _fetching_ in that helmet, Meriadoc? Hm. Perhaps this will teach you to keep your eyes where they should be!' she said drily.

'What does she mean, Merry?' Éowyn heard Pippin whisper as she walked away.

'Nothing, Pip! She just means I should, er, look before I try and get on a horse next time,' Merry hurriedly replied. 'Now, let me just fix this…'

The sound of Pippin's giggles were still audible as she walked away, while Merry tried to figure out how in Middle-earth the reins had got into such a tangle…

* * *

**_A/N: Well, I hope you liked it :) I'm sure Merry won't be messing with Éowyn again anytime soon :P _**

**_Thank you all so much for reading! Please review; I'd love to know what you think :)_**


	29. Affection

**29: Dwarves must never show affection**

Gimli walked reticently at Legolas' side through the great dark forest of Fangorn. He was happy that Legolas had been so moved by the beauty of the Glittering Caves at Helm's Deep, but he didn't feel comfortable in these close, dank conditions. Legolas beside him looked perfectly at ease, a smile of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the forest.

Gimli liked the little pools of flowers that littered the forest floor, bright puddles of colour in the sea of brown and green mosses. They were approaching one particularly bright patch of yellow flowers, small and delicate, and Gimli bent down to have a closer look, when suddenly –

He sneezed. He couldn't help it; his nose itched and he sneezed. And then again, and once more.

Legolas appeared worried, as on Gimli's hands a rash was appearing, and Gimli's eyes were filling with tears as they puffed up, obscuring his view of the forest.

'_You_ – this forest's trying to kill me!' Gimli yelped when he saw the bright red of his hands. 'I should never have come in here!'

'Gimli, you're fine. You're not going to die. It's just this flower; a lot of people react to the pollen. We have them at home in Mirkwood, too.'

'So it's just – ' he sneezed again – 'just the _flowers_ that are trying to kill me then?'

Legolas smiled.

'Whatever you say, Gimli. But rub this on your hands and nose; that'll stop the rash and the sneezing,' he said, passing Gimli a large almond-shaped leaf which was growing nearby. Gimli did as Legolas advised; he didn't mind the elf so much now – in fact, he would say he was actually quite fond of him. But never would he say that to his face! The elf would go getting ideas, then.

Gradually the rash died down and the sneezes stopped, much to Gimli's relief. He didn't want to go around with red hands and a never-ending cold forever. The swelling around his eyes was also reducing; he could actually see now.

Now he had spent some time in the forest, Gimli could appreciate the rugged and untamed beauty of Fangorn. The vines creeping silently around the trees, while a little creepy, had a certain elegance to the way they draped over the boughs and thick trunks; the green glow as the sun filtered through the leaves bathed the forest in a soft light.

Much as Gimli didn't want to admit it, he found himself really appreciating his surroundings; grudgingly, he accepted that it was as awe-inspiring as the Glittering Caves. Turning to Legolas, he managed to choke out, 'It's beautiful.'

Legolas smiled.

'Thank you Gimli! That is high praise indeed from you.'

Gimli gave a snort; sarcasm did _not_ suit the elf.

They continued to walk, and Gimli became more awestruck at what he saw.

Eventually, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

'Oh, laddie; it's too beautiful! Thank ye for bringing me here!'

And so saying he wrapped his arms around Legolas' torso, bringing the elf in for a hug, tears pricking his eyes.

Legolas was shocked, and tapped Gimli's back in a pacifying manner. Bemused, he stood in the dwarf's embrace. He'd never have imagined Gimli being this affected by the beauty of Fangorn!

Suddenly Gimli stiffened and backed away. He gave a self-conscious cough.

'Ah. Um. Yes, thank you…' he muttered, and continued walking, avoiding Legolas' eye. Thank goodness no one else had seen that; his father would have a fit if he thought Gimli had hugged an elf.

Legolas followed the dwarf, whose cheeks were bright red, stifling a laugh. If only Aragorn had seen their gruff old friend in that moment of affection! Sighing, Legolas walked after his friend, who muttered and cursed for the rest of the day with embarrassment.

* * *

_**A/N: credit for the hay fever idea to Elves are awesome. :)**_

_**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I love Legolas and Gimli's friendship, the overcoming of prejudices and preconceptions… Ah. The genius of Tolkien... I love it. :D **_

_**There's only one more chapter to go of the whole story! I hope you will enjoy it! I'm still shocked at how popular this story has been; I'm so chuffed! I want to thank you all again for reading and reviewing and adding! :D  
**_


	30. Wizard

**30: Do as the wizard says**

The hobbits and Gandalf had made good time on their return journey to the Shire, and they were now approaching the village of Bree. Gandalf would leave them after their stay there, but they would have a little while with him at least.

Eventually they reached the village and made straight for the _Prancing Pony_, where the hobbits were looking forward to the good food and comfortable hobbit beds. They remembered their last eventful stay at the inn, and Frodo was quiet as they approached, but for the most part they were cheerful and unworried.

They received many funny looks from the villagers, Men and hobbits alike, but when they reached the inn and handed Nob their horses, the lad looked at them with wide eyes and reverence.

'And to think last time I met you that you would all become so fine!' he gasped when he saw them in their elven cloaks and rich clothing, remembering the rather tired and muddy hobbits that had arrived at the inn all those months ago, and left with the Ranger in that cloud of speculation.

They proceeded into the inn, the hobbits first and Gandalf behind, and the hobbits made for the bar where Barliman Butterbur was busy serving his customers with pints of ale and golden beer. When he saw the hobbits, his face widened into a smile and he let out an exclamation of welcome, until he saw Gandalf towering over the hobbits when his face instantly fell and his welcome turned into a yelp of surprise and fear.

'Yes, Butterbur, you have reason to fear me,' Gandalf boomed out, and instantly the room fell silent, and it seemed as if it grew darker as the wizard spoke. 'Did I not say that if you didn't send on the letter before the month was out that I would give you a roasting? And did you not only give Mr Baggins here the letter 3 months late? Do you know how much trouble could have been avoided if you had not had a memory as short as your beard!' Gandalf's voice was trembling slightly in anger.

Butterbur began trying to protest, but his voice failed him and he began quaking a little as Gandalf advanced.

'You shall get a roasting, my dear Butterbur; yes indeed,' Gandalf continued, walking forwards towards Butterbur. He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially into Butterbur's ear.

'I expect the very finest rooms, the finest food and ale, and the very best in entertainment.'

Butterbur looked at Gandalf. Was he being serious? He didn't want to think himself out of trouble only to be turned into a mouse or something else unnatural.

'Chop chop, butterbur!' Gandalf said briskly, clapping his hands.

If poor old Butterbur had known, he wouldn't have thought himself so lucky.

After showing the hobbits and Gandalf to the best parlour, he was run off his feet fetching them mug after mug of ale and many platters full of delicious and homely foodstuffs. By the end of it he almost wished he _had_ been turned into a rat; he would have been less tired than _this_!

When finally Gandalf sent the hobbits off to bed to sleep off the ale, Butterbur quickly took a rest, slumping down on one of the vacated benches.

'Well, my dear Butterbur, I do believe I've worked you hard enough tonight! Hopefully next time I leave you a message you'll actually deliver it!' Gandalf chuckled. Butterbur nodded meekly, and gratefully stood up to go to bed, the bar having been long since cleared of customers.

'Breakfast at eight o'clock sharp, Butterbur! With all the trimmings,' Gandalf threw over his shoulder as he walked off to his bedchamber.

With a sigh, Butterbur slumped down again. He supposed he deserved it! He knew one thing now – if Gandalf told him to do something, he'd do it! Doesn't do anyone any good crossing a wizard.

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**_A/N: Well, this is the last one! For RotK, that is... Due to quite a bit of interest I've decided to extend it! Updates won't be regular - maybe a bit sporadic - but every time I get an idea for an Awkward Moment in the people of Middle-earth's lives after the events of the War of the Ring, I'll write it and post it for you lovely, lovely people! You've all been amazing, sticking with me this far! I really do appreciate it. :)_**

**_But for now, Namar__i__ë! :D_**


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